


Ways and Means

by floorcoaster



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Co-workers, F/M, Post-Hogwarts
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-28
Updated: 2017-09-05
Packaged: 2018-11-20 11:39:47
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 12
Words: 51,318
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11334942
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/floorcoaster/pseuds/floorcoaster
Summary: Sometimes the way into someone's heart is the longest way.





	1. PROLOGUE

**Author's Note:**

> This was written for the Hermione Big Bang in 2009. Reposting here.

PROLOGUE  
May, 2001

Hermione watched the couple of the day dance their first dance as husband and wife. Despite the very public courtship and engagement, where it seemed everyone in England had an opinion, Ron and Pansy only had eyes for each other as they swayed on the dance floor. True, they relished, even welcomed, the attention, but Hermione knew that it didn’t matter. Even if no one gave them a second look, Ron and Pansy would look at each other exactly the way they were now.

She sighed and reached for her wine glass, only to frown upon finding it empty. Then Draco Malfoy sat down and tapped the glass, causing it to refill.

“Thank you,” she said, smiling.

“If you’re anything like me, you need to be half-sloshed to stomach this.” He vaguely indicated the bride and groom.

Hermione chuckled and took a generous drink. “They really love each other,” she mused, watching Ron whisper something in Pansy’s ear. 

Draco sighed heavily. “So it would appear. You know, part of me still thought this would never happen.”

“Oh?” she asked, not taking her eyes off her friend.

“Right up until the vows were exchanged,” he confessed, refilling his wine glass. “I reckon I shouldn’t have doubted; they’ve been perfect together since they started dating.”

“None of us thought it would last either,” Hermione told him. “We practically ignored the fact that Ron was dating. He told us, we laughed, we moved on. When he started bringing Pansy out with us, that’s when we started taking him seriously. We had to.”

“And here they are.” Draco shook his head, frowning at the empty glass in his hand. “I’ve had enough of the light stuff. Want some Firewhisky?”

“Maybe later.” Hermione polished off her glass just as the song ended. 

All the guests applauded, and Ron and Pansy took a bow. Then the band started playing a faster song, and other couples joined the bride and groom. Hermione was about to refill her glass when Draco cleared his throat. 

“What do you say, Granger?” His expression was awkward, as though he couldn’t decide whether to smile or laugh or cry. “Want to dance?”

Her heart skipped a beat when he held out his hand. “I’d like that,” she replied, placing her hand in his. 

Draco led her onto the floor, and she cringed at the whispers and stares she knew they were receiving. But once he turned to face her and placed his free hand on her waist, she forgot about everything and everyone else in the room. 

The weeks leading up to the wedding had been surprising, to say the least. Ron had insisted that Hermione be in the wedding, and Pansy had agreed, so long as Draco was too. Harry was the Best Man and Ginny the Maid of Honor, so Hermione and Draco had no official duties. 

They had bonded quickly over making fun of the colors Pansy had chosen, and soon they were quietly ridiculing almost everything about the wedding—from the music Ron had picked to the seating arrangements at the reception. Toward the end, they were just making up reasons to find fault with things. 

Draco had been surreptitiously charming, and Hermione had been thoroughly charmed. She hadn’t allowed herself to think about it too much, for fear she would accidentally fall for him, but now as he stood so very close, peering down at her with his silvery eyes, she allowed the faintest hope to enter her mind.

Before she knew what happened, the song ended and a slow tune began. Unsure of what to do, Hermione stopped, taking her hand from Draco’s shoulder. 

He hesitated only a moment before reaching for her, pulling her flush against him. As Hermione laid her head on his chest, she thought for sure he’d be able to feel her heart pounding. Draco wrapped his arms around her, holding her firmly in place. 

They swayed gently to the music, neither speaking at first. 

Then he whispered in her ear. “People are watching.”

“I know,” she whispered back. 

“We’d cause quite a stir ourselves, you know. Give Weasley and … well, Weasley, a run for their Galleons.” 

His voice was smooth, silky, deep and sensual. If there was one thing she would admit to being in love with already, it was his voice. “You’re absolutely right.” Hermione agreed with a small smile that he’d never see. 

Her thoughts were whirring. Why was he talking about them being in a relationship? Was it possible he’d felt their connection too? She was grateful for Draco’s presence because she was starting to feel a bit lightheaded and deliriously excited at the thought. It was incredible to think that just a month ago, the thought of willingly spending time with Draco was absurd. 

Now she was mentally preparing herself to accept his invitation for a date while telling herself she was imagining things. 

“We’re so different,” Draco murmured, his hot breath sending a shiver down her spine.

“Mmm,” was all she could say.

“You’re Muggle-born; I come from a long line of magic.” His voice was liquid desire. “It would be almost … scandalous.”

Hermione closed her eyes and breathed deeply. She could think of a few scandalous things to do with him, and her mind didn’t hesitate to conjure the accompanying images.

Draco held her a few moments after the song ended and whispered, “Want to go somewhere?”

Oh, sweet Merlin, did she! If it wasn’t for the fact that she generally didn’t sleep with men she wasn’t seeing, she’d have Apparated them both to her room on the spot. Her hesitation was only for an instant, but he noticed it.

“Let’s get a drink.” He smiled warmly, letting her go and leading her off the dance floor with one hand on the small of her back. The gesture was so intimate she shivered again.

They returned to the table where Hermione had been sitting, and she collected her shawl and purse. Wary at being seen leaving the reception with Draco, she told him she’d meet him outside after stopping in the loo.

He caught her drift and made his way through the dimly lit room. Once he was outside, Hermione rushed to the loo and splashed cold water on her face. They were only going to get a drink together, not shag on the gift table, she scolded herself. There was no need to get so worked up. 

But there was something about Draco Malfoy, something beyond his suave exterior, smooth tongue and exquisite lips that made her heart race. He’d been so horrible to her in school, so hateful, that for him to want to be with her—not that he did; she shouldn’t get ahead of herself—if he did—was empowering. The few drinks she’d consumed weren’t helping, and she was feeling a bit of a rush. Part of her wanted to shag him on the gift table. 

The one thing that derailed her train of thought was tomorrow. Up until that moment, Hermione had harbored periodic thoughts of what it would be like to date Draco. The weeks she’d spent getting to know him, flirting lightly, and poking fun at whatever they could, had been a sweet glimpse into what could possibly be. She didn’t want to mess that up.

Resolved, Hermione headed out of the reception hall through a different door than the one Draco had used. He found her quickly and helped wrap her shawl around her shoulders.

“I saw a pub up the street,” he said, shoving his hands in his tuxedo pockets. 

“All right.” Hermione fell into step beside him, and soon they were walking down the empty road. 

They reached a corner and stopped to check for cars. Hermione declared the coast clear and stepped out onto the street. Draco reached out and firmly grabbed her hand, sending butterflies careening through her gut.

Inside the pub, Draco requested a table in the back. It was a Muggle pub, so Hermione ordered a soda. 

“Now, Granger, I said a drink,” he teased, tapping her cup. Without hesitation, he drank half his beer in one go.

“I’ve already had two glasses of wine and half a glass of champagne,” she told him with a smile. “I’m feeling delightfully buzzed, and I think I’d like to stay this way.”

“You need a little something.” Draco smirked, then chuckled. “At least, _I_ need something.” He motioned for the barmaid and ordered a shot of tequila. After tossing it back, he grimaced.

Hermione laughed. “That good?”

“Brilliant.” He coughed.

“You didn’t do it right.” Hermione ordered two more shots.

Draco stared at her, obviously surprised. “So you’re going to have one?”

“I’m going to show you how it’s done.” When the drinks had been delivered, she licked her hand, then sprinkled a pinch of salt on the area. “Go on. You do it.”

He looked at her skeptically but did as she’d instructed.

Hermione picked up a lime wedge with one hand and the shot glass with the other. “Watch and learn.” She quickly licked the salt, downed the shot, and bit into the lime. She swished it all around for a few seconds then swallowed. When she looked at Draco, he was staring at her in awe.

“That was the hottest thing I’ve ever seen a woman do,” he remarked. “I think I’m in love.”

She laughed, fighting the tingles that cascaded down her body. “Your turn.”

He took a deep breath. “Lick, drink, suck. Right?”

“Right.” She swallowed hard, his words going straight through her and giving her all manner of scintillating ideas. _Not good!_ She needed to stay focused on …

Draco followed instructions perfectly. He made a face at the lime, and Hermione laughed. Then without warning, he leaned over and kissed her. She was surprised, but welcomed the kiss, returning it eagerly. His lips were firm until they yielded; he tasted not surprisingly bitter. He took her face in one hand to keep her from moving; not that she had any plans of trying to get away. This was too nice, too perfect.

Eventually, Draco slowed the kiss, and when it ended, they were both breathing heavily. “I’ve been thinking about doing that for about a week now,” he admitted.

“I’m glad you did.” The alcohol had just tipped her over from buzzed to slightly drunk. 

Draco chuckled, somewhat sheepishly. “Can you believe it took me two shots of tequila, three glasses of wine, one of champagne, and a few swigs of the strongest Firewhisky in my father’s liquor cabinet to work up the nerve?”

“Were you that nervous?” she asked, surprised and staring at his lips.

“Terrified,” he admitted. “But I think I’m going to do it again.”

Hermione grinned. “I was hoping you’d say that.”

One more kiss turned into many, and soon they were snogging heavily in the back of the pub. Hermione’s head was spinning with the rush of sensations, but she didn’t want to stop. When Draco slowly laid her down on the booth seat, she broke the kiss, gasping. He continued kissing down her neck.

“You’re so beautiful,” he said, reaching for a strap of her dress and gently pulling it over her shoulder. “I’ve been staring at you all night, imaging pulling this thing off you with my teeth.”

She hummed lightly at the thought, having long forgotten that she’d wanted to wait before bedding him. Well, not so much forgotten as decided she didn’t care. “While that sounds lovely, maybe we could go somewhere else?”

Draco’s concentration didn’t waver as he deposited a few bills on the table, wrapped an arm around her waist, and Disapparated. 

They landed softly on a bed, and Hermione spent half a second wondering how he’d managed to pull that off, but then he was kissing her again. Soon they were tumbling, fumbling, gasping and delighting in each other in a way Hermione hadn’t thought possible. Every touch was like fire, every sound a discordant melody that rose and fell as they moved. She’d never experienced anything like it before and wasn’t sure if it was the alcohol, the build-up of weeks of casual flirting, him, or the two of them together, but it was transcendent.

She fell asleep in his arms while he ran his fingers through her hair and hummed a haunting tune she’d never heard before. 

The last thing she would have expected, had she given it any thought, was to wake up to an empty bed. She was mildly disappointed but reasoned Draco was in the loo. 

Hermione sat up and glanced around the room. The bathroom door was wide open, and she didn’t hear any sounds coming from inside. Then she noticed that all traces of Draco were gone—his clothes, wand, shoes, everything. Even the cufflinks he’d worn were absent from the top of the dresser. 

Tears pricked her eyes, and she blinked, thoroughly confused. How could he just leave without a word? Had it meant nothing to him? Disappointment flooded through her. 

Then she gasped as another thought struck her. Had he been fooling with her, so bored that he’d decided to seduce her just to pass the time? After all, he’d encouraged her to drink the night before. He’d been the one to approach her, to ask her to dance, and to whisper dangerous things in her ear. Had it all been a game?

Hurt and angry at herself, Hermione got out of bed, dressed quickly, and Apparated home.


	2. CHAPTER ONE

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Harry Potter and his world belong to JK Rowling. I just like to play here.

**CHAPTER 1  
March 2006 – Five years later**

Hermione yawned and stretched her cramped muscles. She’d been sitting in one position for too long, and she really should walk around a bit, but the cauldron simmering at her work station needed constant attention.

The potion required stirring every fifteen minutes and the addition of two drops of liquid amber for three straight hours. She had only two more rounds to go before she could move on to the next step, where the potion simmered at a low heat for twelve hours. She would walk around the Ministry then, maybe go see Harry in the Auror’s office or Ginny at _The Daily Prophet_. Anything but hang around her lab or the Department of Mysteries at large.

When the timer dinged, she performed the required motion and added the amber. After resetting the timer, she looked around the room.

The lab in the Department of Mysteries Experimental Potions Division was state-of-the-art—one reason Hermione loved working there. Every potion ingredient known to the wizarding world was housed there, and she had access to every single potion ever created. 

The lab comprised four long, black-topped tables, on which was a full potions set-up. Like the other three employees in the lab, Hermione had been able to set up her work station to her specifications.

Above her table, fifteen cauldrons of different sizes and materials hung from the ceiling. At each end of the table were hot plates, where she could heat the cauldrons and their contents, and the gauge that was accurate to the half-degree. A precision scale sat near the middle of the table, as did a large, wooden cutting board. 

Drawers on the left side of the table were filled with beakers, vials, measuring cups and spoons, pipettes, plastic bottles, and more. Various measurement devices, such as thermometers, litmus paper and other pH testers, filled another drawer. 

On the right, a shallow drawer housed an array of knives, scissors, and tweezers made of varying metals. Another shallow drawer held her notebook, quills, ink wells, and anything else she might need for taking notes or writing reports. There were two temperature-controlled drawers—one heated, one refrigerated. They were useful in speeding up quite a few experiments.

Beside the set of drawers on the right was a tall, vertically-oriented space that held more cutting boards of different materials, each designed to fit atop the wooden one that remained fixed to the table’s surface.

All told, it was the perfect station in Hermione’s opinion. Almost everything she needed to conduct whatever experiment she wished was at her fingertips, and whatever wasn’t was no more than a few feet away.

Around the room were shelves full of potions books, books on ingredients, and binders full of experiments that had been conducted. On low shelves along the walls were machines and devices that weren’t used as frequently, such as the centrifuges, autoclaves, and larger scales. 

The back room, which was bigger than the main lab, housed a large refrigerated unit, a small, hydroponic garden for growing frequently-used herbs and plants, and the storage facility for all the magically relevant potions ingredients collected from around the world.

The timer went off, and Hermione silently cheered. She completed the next step and asked one of her co-workers to keep an eye on her cauldron so she could stretch her legs. The request was simply a way of ensuring that if something went wrong, there would be someone in the room to deal with it before it got out of hand. All of the employees carried a device that would alert the bearer if certain parameters were exceeded. If the temperature of the potion neared a certain temperature, the alarm would sound, and the person would know to return to the lab as quickly as possible.

Hermione set her beeper—it looked just like the comparable Muggle device—and headed out of the lab. The corridor leading from the Experimental Potions Division to the large, revolving room was quiet. Dull candlelight danced on the walls but she encountered no one on the path. Not that she’d expected to. 

Once inside the revolving room, she muttered the incantation that would grant her the exit door. However, the room stopped before reaching it, and a group of three Unspeakables joined her. They were talking in hushed tones, as did most people who worked in the Department of Mysteries, and she did her best to ignore them and to let them know she was ignoring them. 

The room stopped one more time before reaching Hermione’s destination, and Draco Malfoy stepped out of his wing of the Mysteries floor. Their eyes met briefly before the room spun again, and Hermione returned to staring resolutely at the exit door.

She walked out first, followed by the whispering three and then Malfoy. She was grateful for the Unspeakables; they served as a convenient buffer between her and her one-time lover. 

Hermione stood at the back of the lift, heading up to Harry’s floor, while Draco stayed near the front with the other three between them. She clenched her hands when the Unspeakables got off first, but she refused to even glance in Draco’s direction. The lift stopped for her first, and she hurried off, relief flooding her at being out of the confined space .

That was the only drawback to working in the Department of Mysteries. Draco did too, and sometimes—though very rarely, perhaps once every other month—they saw each other.

Hermione knocked on Harry’s door, and he opened it. “Hey, Harry.”

Her friend beamed upon seeing her. “Hermione! This is a surprise. Usually you’re tucked away in the bowels of the Ministry by now, not to be seen or heard from again until the sun goes down.”

“Very funny,” she quipped. “I’ve been stuck at my bench all morning and needed to get out. Want to have lunch?”

“Sure, let me get my money.” Harry grabbed a money bag and they headed for the cafeteria. “We haven’t had lunch together since ….”

“Since I burned my hand and my boss told me to take a walk,” she supplied. 

“Oh, yeah, right.” He shook his head. “Your job is more play than work for you, Hermione.”

She smiled. “I know. I love it.”

They arrived at the crowded cafeteria, and Hermione groaned when she saw the queue. “This is why I usually bring my lunch,” she said with a sigh. 

“Oh well, nothing for it.” Harry pulled her to the back of the queue. “So what’s new with you?”

Hermione considered the question briefly. “Nothing.”

“You always say that,” Harry complained.

“Because it’s always true,” she returned. “I wake up, I work, I go home, I eat, I sleep. With a few variations in there occasionally, such as going out with friends.”

“That’s got to change, Hermione,” Harry said, shaking his head. “You need more in your life than just work.”

“Yeah, yeah.” She waved him off dismissively. “I’ve heard it all before. How’s Luna?” 

Harry and Ginny had dated for a few years after the war and had even gotten engaged. Then Ginny realized that while she loved Harry as a friend, her feelings for him were a glorified form of hero-worship. They’d started out that way, and nothing had really changed. She’d convinced herself over and over that it wasn’t true, but as she was trying on wedding dresses, it had hit her, and she’d collapsed in a mass of hysterical tears.

Hermione and Pansy had helped her back into her robes and took her home, where she’d promptly fallen apart even more.

Harry hadn’t taken the news well, and it took him over a year to even consider dating someone else. He’d kept waiting for Ginny to change her mind, but when she’d started seriously seeing Lee Jordan, he’d been forced to deal with the fact that he was never getting her back. He and Luna had starting dating eight months ago.

Harry immediately grinned. “She’s great. She’s preparing for trip to somewhere exotic, Thailand, I think, with her father.” 

They’d reached the food, and they both got trays and flatware.

Hermione frowned. “Isn’t that difficult?” she asked. “Considering what he did—or rather, tried to do—during the war?”

Harry shrugged and started piling food onto his tray. “If I let myself think about it, sure. But I don’t. Xenophilius is strange and slightly mad, but he’s all right.”

After paying for their food, Hermione and Harry found a small table near the edge of the room. It was impossible to find somewhere to sit that wasn’t surrounded by other people, so Hermione cast a spell to keep their conversation from carrying beyond their table. 

“Ron wants everyone to go out tonight,” Harry said after a few moments of quiet chewing. “He won’t take ‘no’ for an answer.”

Hermione frowned. She’d been looking forward to a long bubble bath and the new book she’d just purchased. “Why?”

“Dunno.” Harry shrugged. “Wouldn’t say. Do you know?”

She shook her head. 

“Anyway, what about you?” Harry asked. “You haven’t been on a date in … what, three months?”

Automatically, she bristled. Her love life was her least favorite topic of conversation, but since she was now the only single one in her group of friends, it was also one of the most frequent topics. “Four,” she corrected. “Work has been extremely busy recently.”

Harry stabbed a finger in the air at her. “You’ve got to quit working so much. There’s more to life than figuring out how Booselberry or whatever can be used in potions. Luna mentioned someone on the _Quibbler_ staff she thought you might get on with.”

“No,” Hermione said through clenched teeth. “I don’t need my friends trying to set me up. I’m perfectly capable of meeting men when and if I choose to do so.”

“She said he’s a lot like you, except for the believing in Crumple-Horned Snorkacks.” Harry tossed his fork onto his tray. “That was passable. It seems like they serve substandard food on Fridays. Maybe it’s just reconstituted leftovers from earlier in the week.”

Hermione laughed, hoping they wouldn’t revisit the topic of dating. “I thought these beans tasted oddly like Tuesday’s raspberry tart.”

“Yeah!” said Harry enthusiastically. “I think we’ve discovered their dark secret. Someone should complain. So are you going to come out tonight?”

“I don’t know, I had plans ….” Hermione trailed off, waiting for the inevitable.

Harry rolled his eyes. “A new book does not count as ‘plans,’ Hermione. You’re coming. I’m telling Ron you’re coming.”

“Fine.” She sighed. “I’ll be there. How did you know about the book?”

Harry laughed boisterously. “That look in your eyes,” he replied once he’d settled down enough to breathe, “when I mentioned going out tonight. I’ve seen it dozens, maybe hundreds of times. I’ve also known you fifteen years. After so much time, you start to pick up on things.”

Hermione playfully swatted his hand. “I’ve got to get back to work. See you tonight. Same place as usual?”

He nodded. “Dinner at seven-thirty. Later!”

**& &&**

Hermione arrived at The Bloated Boar, located in the heart of Diagon Alley’s restaurant district, at precisely five before seven. She quickly found Ron and Pansy at a large table near the back and made her way over.

Not surprisingly, no one else was there. Harry was usually punctual, but since he’d started dating Luna, that had gone by the wayside. There was much discussion in their circle of friends about why, exactly, they were always late, but no one really wanted to know. 

Ginny was perpetually late to everything she did, and no one expected her until at least half an hour past the scheduled meeting time. Sometimes Lee would arrive before her, and when they’d first started dating, he’d make excuses. Now he didn’t say anything, just started in on whatever conversation was in progress. 

Ron smiled at her as she sat across from Pansy. “Hey, Hermione. Thanks for giving up the snuggling session with your book to join us.”

She sent him a frigid glare and glanced at the menu out of rote; she already knew what she wanted and started by ordering a glass of water. 

“You’re just too witty, Ron,” she retorted. “I don’t know how Pansy stands it.”

“There are perks to being with me.” He waggled his eyebrows at his wife.

Pansy laughed and leaned over, bumping shoulders with him.

Sometimes they really were too much to stand. After nearly five years, they were still happy as they were the day they married. It was wonderful, and Hermione was thrilled for her friend—whom she’d once feared would never find someone—but at times it was depressing and even sickening to watch. In that sugar-shock-coma kind of way.

Pansy was about to speak when her eyes focused on something behind Hermione and she waved.

A few moments later, the object of Pansy’s attention sat down beside her, almost directly across from Hermione. It was Draco.

Her stomach dropped; she hadn’t known he would be there. When Harry said Ron wanted to see everyone, she’d assumed she meant Ron’s half of his and Pansy’s friends. Not everyone. That probably meant that Zabini and Theo and his wife, Daphne Greengrass-Nott, would soon be filing in.

Hermione liked Pansy’s friends well enough, but whenever they were around, the atmosphere felt … stiff. There was so much that had gone unspoken between the former Slytherins and Gryffindors that gatherings couldn’t be as loose and carefree as Hermione would have liked. And that said nothing about Draco Malfoy.

“Thank you for coming, Draco,” Pansy said. “I know your life is almost too hectic for your own good.”

“Well, you threatened to hex off my manly bits if I so much as hinted at refusing,” Draco replied with a slight shudder. “What choice did you really give me?” He then ordered a pint of the pub’s home brew.

Pansy preened. “Good point. Still, you could have been difficult.” 

“Malfoy,” said Ron by way of greeting.

“Weasley,” he returned, nodding. Then without meeting Hermione’s eyes, he greeted her. “Granger.”

She muttered something under her breath that everyone would be forced to assume was a return of his gesture and opened the menu again so she could pretend to look at it.

“So, Draco.” Pansy sipped lightly from her glass of water. “Will, uh, Astoria be joining us tonight?”

Hermione resolutely kept her eyes on the list of desserts available for the evening. She hadn’t known Draco was seeing anyone—not that she cared or kept tabs on his relationships. Pansy usually brought it up at some point or another.

“No,” he replied, his voice oddly thick. “She had an appointment with her mother that couldn’t be rescheduled.”

“Oh. Such a pity.” Pansy glanced at Hermione and mouthed “Not.” 

Draco huffed in annoyance. “I really wish you two got along, Pansy.”

“Ha! Fat chance of that happening,” she replied.

“Why not?” he demanded, turning slightly in his chair to face her.

“Because,” she replied, “I know her. Astoria Greengrass is _boring_. Plain and simple, no two ways about it. She’s got nothing much to say, and if she did have an original thought in her head, she’d never risk upsetting you or going against what _you_ say.”

Draco rolled his eyes. “That’s not true.”

Hermione and Ron exchanged a brief this-is-interesting, I don’t want to watch-but I can’t look away-look. 

“You forget that I know her better than you,” Pansy quipped. “I’ve watched her over the years. You forget that Daphne and I were close, once. Astoria tagged along a lot. She’s... fine, she’s just bloody fine, and she’ll be the perfect little wife for you some day.”

Draco gritted his teeth. “You might have known her better at one time, but I assure you, after dating for nearly a year, I now know her better than you ever did.” He paused to huff again. “Why won’t you get along or at least try?”

“Because she is not good enough for you, Draco,” Pansy snapped. “And I also know _you_ , and I don’t like watching you settle. No matter how perfect she may seem, she’s still showing you exactly what you want to see.”

“We have a fine relationship,” Draco quietly seethed. “I’m sure she doesn’t tell me everything that happens in the day-to-day minutia of her life, but neither do I. I trust her, and as my friend, I would hope that you would trust me. At the very least, give her a chance.”

Pansy gasped as though astonished. “You don’t tell each other everything? Don’t you find that unfortunate?” Pansy asked in a pitying voice. “Ron and I share just about everything.”

“I don’t care to know what she had for lunch,” Draco growled. “I know the important things.”

Pansy crossed her arms. “I’m sure she’s keeping important details from you. There’s nothing I wouldn’t tell Ron.” Draco started to protest, but Pansy cut him off. “Maybe not right away, but there’s nothing I would ever keep from him. Can you say the same thing?”

Hermione suddenly wished she could inconspicuously disappear. Judging from the look on Ron’s face, he was wishing for the same thing. The conversation was no longer interesting to watch, and Pansy had just dipped a toe into uncharted territory. She stared directly ahead of her at a picture on the wall of a moose wearing a kilt holding a bottle of Old Ogden’s.

Draco was spared from answering by the arrival of Harry and Luna. Ron let out his breath in relief as greetings were exchanged all around. When she thought it was safe, Hermione chanced a glance at Draco. He was scowling fiercely at the menu. 

“You’re here, Hermione,” beamed Harry.

“I said I would be, didn’t I?” she retorted. 

“Sorry we’re late,” said Luna dreamily. “We got caught up in a discussion about the benefits of applying burn paste to scars that won’t go away.” 

Ron looked at Hermione and mouthed, “ _Yeah, right_.” 

She smiled.

Blaise showed up then, and Ginny and Lee followed close behind. Hermione watched with amusement as Blaise positioned himself so that he had a clear view of Ginny. How her friend had failed to notice his blatant interest in her was beyond Hermione. She could practically taste his attraction that, according to Harry, had started at Hogwarts.

Blaise and Draco started talking, and Hermione got caught up in a conversation with Pansy and Luna. Before long, they were joined by Daphne and Theo, and the table was a loud jumble of three or four conversations going on at once. 

Hermione allowed herself sporadic indulgences in her guilty pleasure: listening to Draco’s voice. Not even what happened between them could dampen her appreciation for the man’s silky, rich, deep voice. She would listen to him read the phonebook if she didn’t have to be in the same room with him.

When almost everyone had finished eating and they were just sitting around, talking and drinking, Ron tapped his glass to get everyone’s attention. 

“Thanks for coming,” he began. “I know it was short notice, but that’s the way things go. Pansy and I have an announcement—”

“I knew it!” Luna beamed. “Didn’t I tell you, Harry?”

Pansy shot the blonde an annoyed look. “Can it, blondie,” she barked.

By then, Hermione had figured it out, and she suspected most everyone else had too. 

“We’re pregnant,” Ron blurted, knowing he had only seconds before someone else said it first.

Pansy squealed, grinning widely, and Hermione jumped up to give her a hug across the table. Luna, Ginny, and Daphne did likewise, and Harry hugged Ron. 

“Congrats, mate,” he said, clapping Ron on the back for good measure. 

The rest of the table gave their congratulations, and Hermione sat smiling at nothing in particular. It was a very good day, and even Draco Malfoy’s presence couldn’t lessen her joy at her friends’ news. 

“How did you know, Luna?” Ginny asked, leaning across the table toward the other woman.

“It was just a feeling,” Luna replied. “When Harry told me Ron had asked to see everyone tonight, I just knew. When we arrived and Pansy only had a water, that confirmed my suspicion.”

Hermione chuckled and picked up her original glass. “I only had water when you arrived as well.”

Without missing a beat, Luna turned to her. “Do you have something to share as well?”

Everyone but Draco laughed while Hermione reddened. She knew he didn’t join in because she had his laugh memorized, burned into her brain like her own name. 

In the blink of an eye, she imagined how this conversation _could_ go—down the road that led to discussions of her single status, of men her friends thought she should date, of opinions on why she was still single. She would rather face Bellatrix’s wand again than sit through that.

Instead, she smiled mischievously and shrugged, taking another sip from her water.

Everyone stared, some open-mouthed. Pansy’s friends were almost more astonished than Hermione’s, probably because they had always held her up on a ridiculous pedestal as being something she wasn’t. 

Then Ron pointed to the beer she’d been nursing all night and laughed uncomfortably. “I sure hope not, since you’re about finished with that bottle.”

“Of course I’m not pregnant,” she scolded everyone. 

“You really had us going, Hermione,” Harry said, letting out a relieved breath. “After our conversation this afternoon, I was—”

She interrupted him. “We won’t be discussing that, Harry.” 

Ron sniggered. “You know that tone, Harry. Your bollocks are on the line.”

“Enough,” Pansy declared. “Tonight is about _me_ , so shower _me_ with attention.”

That set everyone at ease again, and soon there were questions about due dates, baby names, and whether they hoped for a boy or girl. 

Hermione was content to watch Ron and Pansy enjoy the spotlight again. Immediately after their wedding, they had been the talk of the town. But then they’d gotten so wrapped up in each other, in being married and discovering all of its benefits, that they’d stopped going out of their way to draw attention to themselves. It was inevitable that people would still care, they just stopped … caring what other people thought.

Now, though, they truly deserved the spotlight. 

As Hermione sat talking with Luna about all things baby, she heard something from the Slytherin side of the table that made her heart stop.

“My mother and I think you and Astoria will have the most beautiful children, Draco,” Daphne cooed. 

Before she could think, Hermione glanced at Draco to find him watching her. Their eyes met for the briefest of instances, just like earlier in the day, before he looked away, his cheeks flushed.

Hermione couldn’t turn away, and she watched Draco anxiously rub the back of his neck, his brow furrowed. 

“Er, we’re not even married yet ….” He trailed off, looking around for something to focus on. Not finding any purchase, he focused instead on his empty plate. 

Daphne patted his arm, her eyes sparkling. “No, not yet. Of course.” Then she winked at her husband.

Hermione tore her gaze away from Draco’s bent head. It didn’t matter, of course, but she couldn’t help feeling … disappointed. The small piece of her that had held onto the single strand of hope that he might wake up one day and realize what he’d thrown away died. With a sigh, she mourned its passing for an instant, then turned back to Luna.


	3. CHAPTER TWO

**CHAPTER TWO**

Hermione was usually the first to arrive in the Experimental Potions Division, even before her boss. Monday was no exception. She had an intricate potion to dissect, and she wanted to get a head start on it.

First, she found the directions for the potion, which took some time. Then she started reading, taking notes on nearly every step. 

Halfway through, however, she was interrupted by her boss.

“Granger! I’d like to see you in my office.”

Hermione silently cursed the timing, but shut her book and complied.

Reginald Timmons was at least a hundred years old and had been in charge of the Division for more than fifty. Hermione held a tremendous amount of respect for him. He’d been approached by Voldemort during both wars, and both times, he’d eluded the dark wizard, a feat many tried and failed to replicate. What was more, he’d taken his notes and all potentially dangerous experimental potions with him so Voldemort couldn’t get his hands on them.

His office looked as though it was stuck somewhere in the seventies. The colors, furnishings, even accessories were all quite dated.

Timmons indicated the chair across the desk from his, and she sat.

“Let me start by saying you’re not in trouble.” He smiled warmly.

Hermione chuckled. “I didn’t think so, but it’s always possible.”

“No, no. Quite the opposite, in fact.” Timmons bridged his fingers and peered at her with small, dark, but kind eyes. “Something … of potentially enormous importance was discovered over the weekend. The Director of the Department of Mysteries is putting together a large team with members from many divisions.”

He paused, taking an even breath. “Ours was selected to be involved with this assignment, and I’ve decided that you, in addition to myself, shall represent us on this team.”

Hermione sucked in a breath, surprised but elated. “Oh, Mr. Timmons! I-I’m honored!”

“I am glad,” he remarked. “It’s your first interdivisional assignment, but I believe you’re ready. More than ready.”

“Thank you!” She couldn’t have kept the grin off her face if she’d tried.

“You are welcome. There is a meeting in a few minutes that we will attend where you’ll learn more details and meet the others involved with this mission.” He handed her a short stack of parchment. “I’ve just come from a meeting with all the division heads. You may look over the notes before we go.”

She nodded rapidly, already scanning the first page.

“There is one more thing,” he said, chuckling lightly at her enthusiasm. 

Hermione put the pages down with some effort and refocused on her boss. 

“It’s imperative that you—and by extension this Division—makes a good showing with this assignment.” Timmons peered at her intently. “It’s not often such a project of this magnitude presents itself, and even rarer that so many different divisions work together. I want this Division to shine.”

“Of course.” Hermione tried to give him a reassuring smile. “I assure you, I won’t let you down, Sir.”

Timmons smiled warmly. “Good. Not that I was really worried, but I felt the need to impress upon you the importance of this assignment. It is truly unlike any other this Department has seen. Well then, Miss Granger, twenty-three minutes remain before that meeting, so I suggest you use it wisely.” He waved his hand toward the door, effectively dismissing her.

Hermione knew it was done in jest, and she thanked him profusely on her way out. The walk back to her work station was the best forty feet she’d ever walked in her life.

**& &&**

The meeting was held in the general conference room, and it was stuffed to capacity. Hermione squeezed into the back corner, happy just to be able to see David Chamberlain, head of the Department, at his seat at the head of the table.

At precisely 11 a.m., he called the meeting to order. “Some of you may know why we’re here, but for those of you who don’t, I’ll give you the history.”

A map popped up on a screen behind him. “Deep in the forests of northern Scotland, a discovery was made early last week that’s had us scrambling ever since.”

The image zoomed in on the area specified. “A castle, previously undetected due to numerous complicated wards and protective spells, was stumbled upon by a traveling wizard. This man made it to the front door, but the inscription sent him to us. It read ‘ _Mort habito huc_ ,’ which translates ‘death dwells here.’”

A murmur went through the group.

“A small team went in and encountered ancient spells of protection. It took a few days and our best Curse Breakers to punch through these defenses, but the job was done.” A new picture appeared of the castle, followed by images of the inside.

“What they discovered inside is the reason you are here,” Chamberlain continued. “The simple explanation is that we have no idea what we’re looking at concerning most of what’s inside the castle. Despite being more than four hundred years old, it looks as though it was built yesterday. Your task is to locate everything in the castle, catalog it, describe it, identify it, and disarm it if necessary.”

New pictures began scrolling on the wall, including magical items Hermione had never seen or read about before. 

Chamberlain passed around a stack of parchment. “Take one, pass them along. Now. We’ll be working with a host of Aurors in case something attacks us. Teams of four will work together to collect everything that can be collected. There will be a Curse Breaker on each team, as well as an Unspeakable. The rest of you will be deployed based on your particular talents.”

Hermione took a page and handed the remaining stack to the person on her left. In doing so, she noticed Draco standing along a different wall, reading over the page he’d just been given.

 _Please don’t let me be teamed with him_ , she silently begged anyone who would listen. With the number of people gathered, however, she didn’t think it was very likely.

“You’ll find your assignments on the back page,” instructed Chamberlain.

Instead of turning, Hermione watched Draco to see his reaction. His brow furrowed as he searched, and when his finger stopped moving down the page, his eyes widened. Then he scowled furiously and glanced up, searching for someone.

Hermione quickly found her own name on the list and stared in horror at the name directly beneath hers. Her throat suddenly felt too thick, and she started feeling lightheaded. She’d felt these symptoms before; she was about to faint.

Refusing to make a scene in the middle of such an important meeting, Hermione sank to her knees, focusing all of her energy on remaining conscious. What she needed was some water, but short of conjuring it—an impossibility—she was stuck wishing. 

Through the haze of low blood pressure, Hermione strained to listen to the Director. 

“Work begins today,” he was saying. “In the lobby outside this room, we’ve set up color-coded areas. Find the color that matches the one listed with your team. When all four of you are together, you’ll be given your instructions and a Portkey. Are there any questions?”

She tuned out then, concentrating on each breath she took. Slowly the feeling passed, and just when the Director dismissed them, she felt ready to stand up. The witch beside her helped her to her feet, and Hermione thanked her. Then her eyes accidentally found Draco, only to discover that he was watching her, a strange expression on his face.

Hermione ignored him and filed out of the conference room with everyone else. She found her color—red—and read the handout as though it was the most interesting thing she’d ever laid eyes on.

The Curse Breaker and the Unspeakable joined her first, then Draco shuffled over. 

“I’m Collin Anders,” said the other man, holding his hand out to her.

“Hermione Granger,” she returned, shaking his hand while forcing a pleasant expression onto her face. 

“Simone Blackwell.” The fourth member of the team was a woman. 

The other two looked to Draco, who gave them both a strained smile. “Draco Malfoy.”

“What do you do, Draco?” asked Collin. 

“I’m a cryptographer,” he replied. “I study various codes with the design of breaking them. My area of specialty is cryptolinuistics, a branch of cryptography involving the use of language in codes.”

Collin chuckled. “Fascinating.”

Hermione couldn’t agree more, and she found herself wanting to stare at Draco. 

“I’m the team’s Curse Breaker,” Collin remarked. 

“Unspeakable,” offered Simone.

Now all the attention turned to Hermione. “I’m with Experimental Potions,” she said, amazed that she’d been able to get the words to come out right considering the way her stomach was churning. 

Simone glanced from Hermione to Draco and back again. “Interesting. I wonder why they paired you two together.”

“We aren’t paired together,” Draco said quickly, “we’re just on the same team.”

“But my position and Collin’s position are standard for every team,” Simone rebutted. “You two are the variables.”

Draco seemed anxious to argue, and Hermione’s anger flared. Why was he so desperate to avoid being associated with her in any way? She was the one who’d been used and left alone in the hotel room, not him; she should be avoiding him like the plague.

“I suppose we should tell someone we’re ready,” said Collin, waving at someone carrying a clipboard.

The man walked over to them. “Team Red.” He checked someone off. “Here are your instructions. You’ll be primarily focusing in the kitchen and library of the castle. Hundreds of vials containing unknown substances have been found.” He glanced at Hermione, then Draco. “And they’re labeled in a way we’ve never seen before. We want you to find everything you can on this … code, for lack of a better term. Crack it, so she can analyze what we don’t understand. Clear?”

Everyone nodded, and the man handed Collin an empty tin of mints. “Everyone hold on, I’ll be activating in five … four … three ….”

Hermione quickly touched the tin, as did Simone and Draco, who did everything he could to keep his fingers from touching hers. The juvenile action only annoyed her more. While cursing whoever had the bright idea to make the Portkey from an item that could easily fit into a pocket, the object activated, and they were thrown through space and deposited in a lush, green forest. 

Unaccustomed to Portkey travel, Hermione stumbled and fell upon impact. Collin and Simone hadn’t noticed; they were busy gaping at the castle that stood not twenty feet away. Draco looked down at her for a few long seconds, indecision written all over his face, before sighing and offering her a hand up. She didn’t accept his reluctant help and got up on her own.

Draco rolled his eyes and turned away.

“All right,” said Collin, “it looks like I say this pass phrase to gain entrance to the castle. Then we’ll head straight until we reach a dead end, then go left, then right, right, another left. The kitchen area will be on the left.” He looked at the rest of the team. “Everyone ready? Let’s go.”

Draco walked beside Collin, his stride purposeful, alert. Hermione and Simone walked behind the men. Everyone had his or her wand drawn.

The precautionary measure turned out to be unnecessary. All along the route, they encountered other teams and hordes of Aurors. Most of the protective wards had been disabled, but those weren’t what concerned the Department. The individual spells cast on powerful, dark, and rare items would be far more troublesome.

They reached the kitchen without incident. Collin read the instructions again. “There’s a room off the kitchen where the suspicious liquids are housed. The room has been cleared, but Simone and I will do a general sweep of the bottles themselves.” He glanced up at Hermione and Draco. “It’ll be a few minutes if you’d like to sit while we work. Then it’s all you.”

Hermione nodded, despising the idea of being left alone with Draco in the large yet oppressive kitchen. As soon as Collin and Simone disappeared into the side room, Draco walked briskly across the kitchen to the only window.

She watched as he leaned his forehead on the glass and took a few deep breaths. Then he stood back and looked out.

Hermione sat on the floor with her back to the cold, stone wall. Closing her eyes, she tried to picture herself in a sunny meadow with a blanket and a good book.

Before she knew it, Collin startled her. “Hermione?”

“Yes?”

He nodded once. “We’re finished. You and Draco can go in now.”

Merlin, they were about to be sent into an even smaller room with no windows and forced to interact in a meaningful way. She was still bemoaning her fate when Draco stalked past her into the room.

Summoning as much Gryffindor courage as she could muster, Hermione stood and followed him, leaving the door open behind her.

The room was long and narrow, about ten feet deep by six feet wide, lined on both sides with shelves. Covering the shelves were rows of vials containing liquids in every color of the rainbow. They were arranged precisely, an equal distance from one vial to another moving front to back and equal distance from column to column.

On each vial was a label in a strange print. 

“Are we allowed to touch them?” Draco called out to the others.

“Yes. Just don’t open any of them,” came Simone’s reply.

“Right.” Draco picked up the closest vial and scrutinized the label. 

“I suppose this is mostly your department right now,” Hermione said as she examined another vial, so in awe at what she was seeing that she forgot she was ignoring him.

“Agreed,” he affirmed. 

The labels were all handwritten, and the glyphs comprised dots and lines in varying patterns. “Have you ever seen anything like this?” she asked, running her finger over the markings.

“No,” he murmured, jotting notes on a small pad of parchment he’d brought with him.

“I’m not sure what I can do in here,” Hermione confessed. “Without opening them, I can’t tell water from arsenic.”

“The colors don’t mean anything?” he asked, moving from one row to the next.

She shrugged. “They might, but I can’t assume that blue means water. Without knowing the key, if there is one—”

He sighed. “Of course. You can’t decipher the code.” 

For the first time since that night, he looked at her for longer than a glance. As they stared at each other, Hermione’s heart started pounding. Dozens of emotions washed over her, ranging from longing to jealousy to hurt. It was amazing how something that had happened almost five years ago still had the power to affect her so strongly.

Draco, on the other hand, seemed completely unfazed. He retrieved a second parchment pad and handed it to her. “You can help me, if you’d like. I’m making a map of the entire room, listing every shelf and everything on it. The number of vials in each column, and the markings on each vial. They seem to be grouped by identical markings, but the trend might not hold. Just look at each vial to be certain it matches the others in its column.”

Hermione wordlessly accepted the pad and nodded, pulling out her own quill and setting to work. 

After an hour or so, Draco spoke. “I wonder why we were given access to the library as well.”

She shrugged. “Maybe there will be something in there that can help you discover what’s on these vials. Surely whoever lived here before didn’t use this … language only on these vials.”

A tiny smile tugged at the corner of his lips. “I’m sure you’re right.”

Hermione let out a long breath. They had successfully made it through an hour together in the small room. Neither had yet to draw a wand, and no harsh words had been exchanged. Perhaps they’d needed to get through the awkward part and now they would be able to work together without a problem. 

Still, there was something she wanted to clear the air about. “I hear congratulations are in order.”

Draco visibly stiffened and froze for an instant. “Thank you.” His tone was forced.

“When’s the wedding?” she asked, not looking up from her task of recording the information he’d requested.

“It’s … four months away.” His shoulder slumped almost imperceptibly. “Late July.”

“Oh. Well, again. Congratulations.”

He muttered his thanks once more and returned to his task. Neither spoke again for what felt like hours.

“I just realized I haven’t eaten lunch,” Hermione said after her stomach rumbled. She stood up, stretching to relieve the tension in her muscles. “I’m rather famished. I hope we’re allowed to return to the Ministry soon.”

Draco produced a snack bar from somewhere in his robes and handed it to her without a word. Surprised at the overt display of kindness, Hermione hesitantly accepted the bar. He continued looking at the notes they’d taken, putting them in order. 

“Thank you,” she said, opening the bar and taking a bite. She knew right away it was no ordinary bar; it must have been one of those meal-replacement bars, designed for occasions such as this when food wasn’t readily available. By the time she’d finished, she was full. “Have you eaten one?”

“Yes. They aren’t the best, but they’ll do in a pinch.”

Just then someone knocked on the doorframe and poked his head in. “What’s your status?”

“I’m about seventy-five percent finished,” Draco replied, glancing around the room and both his and Hermione’s notes.

The man nodded. “We’re about to wrap up and head back, so meet your team outside in your color-designated spot. Chamberlain wants to see everyone again before the end of the day.” 

“Isn’t our team outside?” Hermione asked, peering around the man’s body.

“They were utilized elsewhere around the castle,” he replied. “Portkeys will activate in ten minutes.” With that, he left.

“Looks like we’ll be coming back,” said Draco, wrapping a band around his notes. 

Hermione nodded. “I hope so, since we didn’t get finished.”

He indicated that she should leave first, then closed the door to the vial room. As they walked through the castle, they were joined by other people making their way out.

Then Draco chuckled to himself, and a few seconds later, he did it again.

Hermione had debated about asking him what was so funny after the first chuckle, but had decided against it. No purpose would be served from asking except to satisfy her curiosity, and she would be forced to talk to him. But when he did it again, she gave in.

“What’s funny?”

“Friday night,” he replied lightly. “You should’ve seen the faces on Potter and Weasley at your little, uh, joke. They were indescribably horrified.”

She couldn’t believe he’d willingly brought up the evening at the pub; he was so good at ignoring her and everything related to her. “I can imagine.” She smiled, mentally picturing her friends’ faces. “If it had been true, they’d have demanded to know the bloke’s name, then hunted him down and hexed him. Probably would have castrated him, too.”

Draco’s eyes widened.

“For, you know, getting me pregnant and then leaving me all alone,” she clarified. 

“Oh, right.” He resumed staring at the ground as he walked. “Still, they were amusing.”

 _Then why didn’t you laugh?_ she wanted to ask but held her tongue. 

When they reached the red tree in the patch of forest just beyond the castle wall, Collin and Simone were waiting.

“Brilliant.” Collin produced the empty tin, and soon they were being whisked back to the Ministry. 

Draco volunteered to return the used Portkey, and Hermione followed the other two back into the conference room. Once everyone had returned, Chamberlain got up to speak.

“You’ve all had a decent look at what you’ll be doing over the coming weeks.” He clasped his hands behind his back and paced back and forth at the end of the table. “This mission is the Department’s top priority. That said, I know how many of you work. Under no circumstances are you to attempt to return to the castle without your team.”

Chamberlain looked them over sternly. “It is very important that we complete this task in a systematic and, more importantly, safe manner. At no time should you be alone anywhere in the castle without an Auror or Unspeakable. You may do research on what you learn and see on your own time, but do _not_ attempt to return to the castle on your own. Understood?”

A chorus of assent went up around the room. 

“On to the next order of business. Under no circumstances are you to remove **anything** from the castle.” Chamberlain stopped to rest his hands on the back of his chair. “The Unspeakables will be handling the transport of the articles back here. Everything has been magically cleared to touch, but we are not to the tinker, take apart, dissect, blow it up stage.”

A few of the wizards from Experimental Charms chuckled and whispered briefly to each other. They were the ones who got to play with spells all day; no doubt they were anxious to see how everything in the castle would react under pressure.

“When your team has finished cataloguing your assignment, you can let me or another leader know.” Chamberlain then introduced the four project leaders for the mission. “Your materials will then be brought to the Department of Mysteries where they will be further examined for dark magic, protective wards and spells, etc. Once they pass this phase, they’ll be handed over to your team to begin your analyses. Are we clear?”

Again, everyone mumbled in the affirmative. 

“Good. I do apologize for not thinking about a midday meal.” Chamberlain smiled penitently. “In the excitement of the day, we overlooked it. From now on, lunch will be provided on the grounds outside the castle for anyone who would like to eat there. You may also take a special Portkey back here for lunch. Are there any questions or concerns?”

A few people raised their hands, and Hermione half listened. Though the day had gone well, her nerves were still tired, and she wanted to get back to the relative safety of her lab to unwind before heading home.

When Chamberlain dismissed them, she hurried toward the Potions wing and breathed a huge sigh of relief when she arrived. Everything was exactly how she’d left it. Hermione smiled, grabbed the experiment she’d started reading that morning and her lunch, and headed home.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There's a nod to **Jurassic Park** in this chapter. That was definitely a formative book for me growing up. Thanks for reading! Hope you enjoy!


	4. CHAPTER THREE

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> NOTE: there was a mix-up (probably my fault) with this and the previous chapter. If you've already read this one, please go back one chapter and read that. I'm hoping it's all sorted now, and that there's no more confusion. Thanks to PlainJane00 for pointing out the mistake!

**CHAPTER THREE**

That night, Hermione went for a walk in the park near her flat. The day had been full of the unexpected: the possible promotion and her boss’ praise, the mission at the castle, being paired with Draco, and then passing the time with him in a decidedly not-awkward fashion.

It was the first time she’d been alone with Draco since the night of Ron and Pansy’s wedding. She simply hadn’t had the occasion to be alone with him—not that she would have if given the choice. Even though Pansy had been readily accepted into Ron’s group of friends, and Ron into hers, the two sets rarely mixed.

On the few occasions when they had—Ron or Pansy’s birthday, usually—the two groups pretty much kept to themselves. They did converse politely at first, but once the evening really got under way, the invisible line was drawn. Only Ron and Pansy could cross it without receiving awkward looks.

Harry got on well enough with Draco, but since Hermione had never warmed to the blond, Harry generally followed her lead. For this, Hermione was secretly grateful. If all of her friends had embraced Draco the way they had Pansy, she’d have been forced to either pretend to accept him or tell the truth about why she refused. Neither option was desirable.

No one knew about her one-night tryst with Draco—not even Ginny or Pansy. And from what she’d observed, Draco hadn’t told anyone either. At first, she’d been too ashamed for letting him succeed in seducing her and then leaving her. She’d been humiliated, had refused to show her face in public for a few weeks. The constant fear that someone would see the shame written across her forehead had been crippling.

Then she’d realized she had nothing to be ashamed of. Draco had charmed her, wooed her, bedded her, but she’d been a willing participant the entire way. There was no shame in feeling a connection with a man and hoping for more. The fact that she’d given him more than she’d planned was irrelevant; he would have hurt her just as badly had he laughed in her face and flat-out rejected her.

After that, she hadn’t felt a need to share. She and Draco played a marvelous game of ignoring each other. He barely acknowledged her, and they never spoke about the incident. It was as though it and the weeks leading up to it had never happened. No one had ever expected them to be friends, to be civil, so they maintained the wall between them and carefully weeded the edges. 

For awhile, Hermione had worried that someone would notice that she and Draco had stopped talking after the wedding. After all, as they’d neared the big day, Draco and Hermione had spent more and more time together. However, when no one mentioned it, Hermione concluded they’d been too absorbed in the pre-wedding fuss to really notice. 

Hermione sighed, kicking a rock off the path and watching is hop along in front of her until it came to rest in the grass. Now she would be working with Draco, potentially very closely, for the foreseeable future. At least the day’s events had shown that they could work together without letting their past get in the way. The last thing she wanted was to let Draco Malfoy come between her and the promotion.

With a smile, Hermione allowed herself to remember their sporadic conversation in the vial room. One thing at least hadn’t changed about Draco Malfoy; his voice was just as alluring, just as tantalizing as it had been five years ago. The memory of their night together, the words he’d said, the way he’d whispered her name still made her shiver.

In her dreams that night, she and Draco were sitting together by a warm fire in large, wing-backed chairs. She sipped a mug of hot chocolate while he read to her from _Hogwarts: A History_.

**& &&**

The new mission had Hermione excited about going to work, and it had nothing whatsoever to do with Draco. If anything, his presence dampened her good mood, but only just a little.

She was the first to arrive in the designated red area, and she sipped on her cup of coffee, watching the people gather.

Draco was the next in her group to show, but he didn’t join her. He and another wizard were deep in conversation and stayed near the edge of the crowd.

“Morning, Hermione,” said Collin with a smile.

She smiled in return. “Good morning.”

“Ready for another fun day?” he asked in a friendly tone.

“I think so,” she replied.

Simone wandered over then and greeted them, followed shortly by Draco. His expression was thoughtful, and he barely mumbled a reply when Collin addressed him. Hermione wondered if perhaps Draco just wasn’t a morning person.

As they neared the kitchen, Hermione addressed Draco. “If you’d like, I can finish the cataloguing task so you can get started in the library.”

Startled—by her offer or the fact that she’d spoken to him, she didn’t know—Draco briefly considered her words.

“I’d rather not,” he said finally. “I’ll tell you why once we’re in there.”

Draco entered the vial room without hesitation, and Hermione was about to follow him when Collin stopped her.

“Send for us when you’re finished in there,” he instructed. “We told the other team we were helping we’d finish the job this morning. Shouldn’t take more than an hour.”

She nodded and then joined Draco. “What’s up?”

He flipped through a different pad of parchment than the one he’d carried the day before. “First, we’ll go faster if we both do it. Second, I would like to see all of the characters used in this … alphabet, code, thing. I’m not exactly sure what we’re looking at, and if I leave, I might miss something.”

Draco glanced at her, his expression remaining impassive. “Third, I did some research last night. These glyphs may be a derivative of Scottish runes. I know you’re proficient—rather more than just proficient, I mean—at ancient runes, and your help might be appreciated.”

“Oh!” she said, pleased despite herself that he thought she might be able to help. “Sure, whatever I can do to help. Go red team.” 

The right-hand corner of his mouth nudged upward, and his eyes smiled. “Go red team.”

They worked in silence for about an hour, finishing just when Collin and Simone returned.

“I think we’re ready to check out the library,” Draco told them.

Collin pulled out his instructions from the day before. “I think Simone and I passed it, but I’m not certain. All right, according to this, we need to go this way ….” 

They followed him through the castle, up a flight of stairs, down a long, dark hallway with snakes carved on the walls. 

Someone had been by to light the fire and torches and to set more lights around the room, but otherwise the library was empty. Bookshelves lined all four walls, broken only by two windows on the outer wall. Hermione noticed that the windowsills were nearly two feet deep. 

Four full bookcases stood in the middle of the room, and in one corner of the room sat a desk. Piled on the desk were more books and manuscripts, even a quill resting on a page, a dried drop of ink just below the tip. It was as though whoever had lived and worked in the room had suddenly vanished. A shiver of apprehension ran through Hermione, and she wrapped her arms around her.

Collin read from the instructions. “Everything has been cleared to touch and open. Don’t attempt to say any of the phrases written in the books or manuscripts. As always, take all relevant precautions. You are to attempt to organize everything according to the modern system for magical libraries. If you need further assistance with this potentially daunting task, let one of the team leaders know.”

Hermione glanced at Draco. He was looking around the room, brow furrowed.

Simone whistled. “This is no small task.”

“Reckon we should get started,” said Collin.

“If you find any books written with the same markings as were found on the vials, please set those aside,” Draco requested. 

“I think it’s safe to assume that whoever used this library kept it fairly orderly,” Hermione added. “I don’t think we need to remove any books from their places, just make a diagram of the room, the shelves, and what types of books can be found where.”

“Good idea.” Collin smiled at her.

“I’m not sure,” Draco remarked, not looking at her. “We can start by working under that assumption, but as we have no idea who this person or persons was, we should be prepared for anything.”

Hermione jumped to her defense, slightly annoyed. “All I meant was that I don’t think we should pull books down to go through. Of course it’s totally possible that there is no order whatsoever to the way the books are arranged, but this room is too neat, too careful, for that to be the case.”

Draco narrowed his eyes at her, and for a moment, she thought he would argue. Then he just shrugged. “Let’s just get started.” He walked to the far bookshelf and disappeared around the corner.

Collin and Simone exchanged a look, then turned to Hermione. “Do you two know each other?” Simone asked.

Hermione smiled as though nothing was amiss. “Yes, we do, actually. We were in school together.” _His aunt tortured me in his drawing room while he watched and we had a fantastic one-night stand a few years ago._

“Ah.” Simone glanced in the direction Draco had gone. “I take it you don’t get along.”

“Whatever gave you that impression?” Hermione asked, silently begging them to drop it.

“I’ll take the next one,” Collin volunteered.

When Simone took the third, Hermione was left with the bookcase nearest the door and, more importantly, the one farthest from Draco.

For the most part, they worked in silence, with the occasional exclamation or question. Draco became the de facto leader of the task, since he had the most experience with languages and the books were written in a variety of extinct tongues.

Just when Hermione was starting to wonder what time it was, a woman entered the library.

“Are you the red team?” she asked, clipboard in hand.

“Yes,” said Collin, coming out from the aisle and wiping his dusty hands on his robes.

“You’re up for lunch.” The woman checked her notes. “According to the schedule, if you want to return to the Ministry, you have forty-five minutes. If you stay here, you can take your time.”

“Thanks,” called Collin, but the woman had already disappeared.

Hermione stood, rubbing her neck. She’d been sitting on the floor for nearly half an hour, bent over book after book. She joined the other three already gathered near the door.

“I don’t know about you all, but I’m eating here,” said Collin, looking at Hermione.

“I’ll try it,” Simone said warily. “I hope they have a no-meat option.”

Hermione fully intended to eat on site. The weather was beautiful and flowers were blooming, making it a perfect spring day. She’d happily take her food and find a quiet spot just inside the forest to sit and relax.

“What about you?” Collin looked from Hermione to Draco and back.

“Here,” said Hermione.

Draco frowned. “Me too.”

Collin grinned. “Right, then. Shall we?”

They easily found the pavilion the Department had set up and joined the short queue. There were tables available, some in the shade and some in the sun. Knowing the detail-oriented tendencies of Mysteries employees, lunch had been organized to the nth degree.

After receiving her food—a simple sandwich, chips, juice, and fruit—Hermione glanced around for the ideal spot to eat. However, as she scanned the surroundings, Simone waved her over to a table already occupied by Collin and, to her surprise, Draco. She really wanted to eat alone, but decided she could give up one lunch to spend with her team. Tomorrow she’d find her perfect location.

Through the meal, she talked easily with Simone and Collin. Draco was all but invisible, seeming deep in thought. When asked a question, he required the asker to repeat it, and his answers were short and succinct leaving no invitation for further inquiry. 

Toward the end of the meal, Simone said, “All right. What was everyone’s favorite subject in school?”

“What?” cried Collin, chuckling. “Who cares?”

“It’s just a get-to-know-you-better question,” she retorted. “I’ll go first. My favorite subject was Defense Against the Dark Arts.”

“Mine too!” said Collin eagerly. For a few minutes, he and Simone exchanged anecdotes about their time at Hogwarts.

Collin was four years younger than Hermione, while Simone was about eight years older. 

Hermione decided she liked Collin. He was a friendly, outgoing bloke who laughed easily and always had something positive to say. His hair was jet black, and he stood a few inches taller than Hermione. He had broad shoulders and was built like Charlie, Fred, and George Weasley. He was a stark contrast to Draco, who was tall, lean, and sharp. 

“How about you, Hermione?” Simone asked. 

“Arithmancy,” she replied with no hesitation.

“Really?” asked the other witch. “That’s unexpected, considering you work with potions now.”

“Well, you know Snape,” Hermione said lightly. “He seems to derive pleasure from making it nearly impossible to like his subject. It’s much harder too when you aren’t one of his preferred.” At the last word, she glanced at Draco, who was staring right back at her.

Simone chuckled. “Yes, I remember his classes well. Fortunately, he mostly left Ravenclaw students alone.”

“I can’t even imagine how nice that must have been.” Hermione smiled.

“Draco?” Collin prodded. “Your turn.”

“Arithmancy,” he said in a bored tone.

“Not surprising, considering your line of work,” Simone commented.

Draco shrugged and glanced briefly at Hermione before turning back to his food. 

After they all finished, they returned to the library.

The rest of the week continued in the same pattern. Every day, they went to the library and continued making their way around the large room, examining every single book and cataloguing it. 

At lunch, Simone would ask another get-to-know-you question, and Hermione learned a few things about Draco. His favorite dessert was raspberry tart, favorite wine was a Côtes du Rhône red, and he generally preferred brunettes to blondes. The last bit had surprised her, since Astoria was nearly as blonde as he was.

They found quite a few manuscripts written in the language used to label the vials, and on Wednesday, Hermione found one she thought showed promise.

“Draco, look at this,” she said excitedly, setting it down on top of the desk. “What does it look like to you?”

He peered stoically at the two open pages for a moment. “I think … are they potions?”

“I think so,” she said, pointing to one of the pages. “This looks like a list, and these might be numbers. They’re different than anything we saw on the vials.”

“You’re right.” His tone was beginning to betray a hint of excitement.

“Then these blocks of text—the way they’re arranged—they could be instructions.” She lifted a few pages and let them flutter back down. “This book is full of them.”

“It looks like there are titles,” he said, flipping through the manuscript. “Maybe we can match a few of them to what’s written on some of the vials.”

“I thought about that,” Hermione said, pulling out her copy of the notes she and Draco had made in the vial room. “This one over here ….” She trailed off and reached to turn the page, and as she did, her hand accidentally brushed Draco’s.

He sucked in a breath and noticeably stiffened. 

Hermione’s heart skipped a beat, and when it resumed, it was pounding furiously. The brush had sent tingles skipping along her hand, and a chorus of angry butterflies began colliding inside her. 

She mentally cursed but otherwise gave no indication she’d even noticed. Quickly she found the page she’d been looking for and pointed to the heading at the top. “I thought I recognized it, and I found it in our notes. See?” 

He took the proffered notes and compared them to what was written in the book. “It would appear to be a match.”

Hermione nodded. “The only problem is, this doesn’t help us much. Just being able to match a vial to a page doesn’t mean we know any more about what it is or what it does.”

“No,” Draco agreed, “but it will be very useful once this code is cracked. Set this book apart from all the others, and if you find any more like it, set them aside too.” Without looking at her, he closed the book and handed it to her and returned to the task she’d interrupted.

She felt dismissed, but then remembered she didn’t care.

On Friday, Simone went back to the Ministry for lunch, and Hermione didn’t want to sit at a table with just Collin and Draco. So she found a nice, quiet spot away from the rest of the lunchtime crowd and leaned against a tree. She always brought a book with her, just in case, and was happy to finally be able to crack it open.

Halfway through her sandwich and thoroughly absorbed in the book, the snapping of twigs alerted her to someone approaching. Hermione’s first instinct was to draw her wand, but she knew it could only be someone from the Ministry.

Sighing, she set her book down and waited for her guest to show.

When Draco came into view, her heart started racing, and she wondered if she would survive the ordeal with her health fully intact. 

“Gra—er, Hermione,” he began, pacing nervously. “I’ve been thinking.”

In the space of half a second, she panicked, certain that he was going to bring up the past. Though why he would, she couldn’t fathom, except possibly to taunt her, and the timing didn’t make any sense. 

“What about?” she asked, despite not really wanting to know the answer.

“This mission.”

 _Phew_. She let out the breath she’d been holding.

“We’ve come across quite a few books, manuscripts, and other documents written in the strange runes,” he continued. “The more I see, the more I believe it’s critical that we understand this new language.”

“I agree,” she said, her blood and adrenaline beginning to return to normal activity. 

“However, with everything we’ve found, we haven’t discovered a Rosetta Stone, something to provide the key for what the glyphs mean.” He was frowning, as he so often did, staring at the ground as he paced with his hands clasped behind his back. “This is where I believe you come in.”

She blinked. “Me? How do you mean?”

“I believe the key to cracking this code lies in those vials.” His tone once again showed the thrill and energy he felt from the job he was doing. “If you can figure out a few of them, at least determine what ingredients were used, then we can match those ingredients—”

“To the book of potions instructions I found,” she finished excitedly. 

Draco stopped pacing and looked at her, his eyes full of intensity and emotion. There was something just under the surface that she couldn’t define, but it brought to mind the way he’d looked at her when they danced at Ron’s wedding. It wasn’t exactly the same, but there were traces of that raw, unfettered emotion—whatever it was.

After a few seconds, his expression softened, and he actually smiled. “Precisely. Is that even possible? Can you go backwards like that?”

She nodded. “It’s possible. It’s not an easy process, and depending on what’s in them, it could take awhile, but I’m sure I can do it.”

“Good, good,” Draco mused. “I’m going to try and speak with the Director this afternoon and tell him my theory. I’m hoping we’ll be able to get our part of this job moved to top priority.”

“That would be wonderful,” she said. “With everything they’ve found, it could be months before I get my hands on those potions.”

“Exactly. You agree with my assessment of the situation, right?” he asked, peering at her intently.

“Yes,” she agreed. “It’s sound.”

“And I … I have your support?” 

This time, she could tell by his tone that he wasn’t sure of her response. “You do. Would you like me to go with you?” she asked, wondering if that’s where this line of questioning was headed.

“No, no,” he assured her. “That’s not necessary. I’d just like to be able to tell him you’re with me on this. Just in case.”

Hermione nodded. “Yup. It’s a good plan.”

Draco didn’t respond, just stood in place, staring at the ground in front of him. Hermione wondered about his moods; he never really seemed happy. Just busy, tired, and extremely focused. She hadn’t seen a single trace of the man she’d flirted harmlessly with five years before. 

She allowed herself to study him, and she saw that his eyes were bloodshot and he looked exhausted. 

“Have you been sleeping?” she blurted, unable to quell the curiosity inside her.

He looked at her. “Not as much as I’d like, no. I’ve been up late trying to figure out this code. This language, these runes, whatever you want to call it.” He rubbed his forehead. 

“It looks like you need to cut back on the homework.” Her tone was very slightly teasing, and she almost regretted it. What was she thinking?

“You’re probably right,” he mumbled, not meeting her eyes.

Hermione sighed. “At least you’re doing something. I feel like I’m not really doing anything.”

“I imagine it’ll be that way for everyone at some point,” he observed, stuffing his hands in pockets. “Right now, I’ve got a lot to do, but once you get the potions, I’ll have nothing to do. And then once I crack the code ….”

“I can always help you translate,” she offered. Then she mentally slapped herself. What was going on? In the space of two minutes, she had completely forgotten what a git Draco had been, that she’d vowed to despise him for the rest of her life. 

He gave her a strange look. “Go red team.”

“Exactly.” 

The silence stretched for a long moment, and Hermione wished he would just leave so the awkwardness would end. However, he didn’t appear as anxious as she was and just stood with his hands in his pockets.

Then he looked up. “What are you reading?”

Hermione blinked, having long forgotten the book in her lap. She glanced down at it. “Oh, it’s called ‘Seven Reasons Why the Wizarding World is Better than It’s Ever Been—And Seven Reasons Why It’s Not.’ It’s a pretty long title.”

“I’ve read that one,” he said. “It definitely makes you think.”

“I’ve just started,” she told him, picking up her book and showing him where her marker was. “I saw it last night at Flourish and Blotts, and the excerpt on house-elves sold it.”

Draco smirked a little. “Do you ever use the library?”

“Yes,” she replied defensively. “But there’s something about new books. The ones you borrow from the library … sometimes they smell.”

His lips quivered slightly, and she could tell he was fighting a smile. Why she cared and why she wanted him to smile so badly, she didn’t understand. All she knew was that he looked so much better when he was smiling.

“I’ll give you that,” he acknowledged.

Then she narrowed her eyes. “Wait. Do you use the library?”

He shrugged. “Sure, why not?”

“Because you could buy Flourish and Blotts,” she argued. “What do you need the library for?”

Now he finally cracked a smile. “Just because I _can_ do something, doesn’t mean I _should_.”

“Well said.” She smiled. “I think if I could, I _would_ buy a bookstore. Then I wouldn’t have to wait or buy another book ever again.”

“But people would come to your store,” he told her. “They’d take your books away.”

“Ah, but they’d pay for them,” she pointed out, “and then I’d buy new books. _Different_ books.”

At that, Draco laughed. His eyes shone, and he instantly looked like she remembered him. The realization made her sad, and not just because of what had happened. She’d genuinely cared about him, and seeing him so serious and downtrodden all that week had been difficult. 

“I reckon we should get back,” he said. “Lunch is probably over.”

“All right.” She packed up her leftover food and got to her feet. After what had happened the last time they touched, she didn’t expect Draco would help her stand. 

The walk back to the castle was quiet, but it didn’t feel awkward anymore. Somehow that had disappeared, and Hermione didn’t even care. It wouldn’t be the worst thing in the world to be able to tolerate Draco, and once the castle project was over, they could go back to their separate lives and never bother with each other again.

For the rest of the day, she tried to figure out why that thought unsettled her so much.


	5. CHAPTER FOUR

**CHAPTER FOUR**

“How’s work going, Hermione?” Pansy asked, sticking another chip in her mouth.

“It’s … going,” she replied with a shrug. 

It was Friday night, and when Harry invited Hermione out for drinks and food with everyone, she’d readily assented. 

Pansy shook her head. “That project you’re working on is taking a long time.”

Hermione nodded. “It’s not even close to being finished. Right now I’m just stuck waiting. I’m doing work that I had from before this whole big thing came up.”

“That’s what Draco said.” Pansy popped another chip and leaned forward so only Hermione could hear. “So, hey, I’ve been meaning to ask you. How’s it going working with him?”

Hermione glanced down the table to make sure Harry, Ron, Ginny, and Luna weren’t paying them any attention. Satisfied, she turned back to Pansy. “It’s fine. I actually haven’t seen him in a few days.”

‘Fine’ was something of an understatement. Since the first week, she and Draco had become more comfortable around each other. They’d still have their moments when the tension would rise, especially any time they accidentally touched, but for the most part, their interactions went smoothly.

Actually, Hermione had found that she couldn’t despise him no matter how hard she tried. He was too interesting, charming, and funny. The natural chemistry that had attracted her to him five years before was still there. However, this time, there was no possibility of any kind of future between them, so she was content with the tentative friendship they’d established.

At first, they’d primarily talked about work with the occasional mention of something else. But lately, their conversations were starting to move outside the scope of their activities much quicker and lasting longer that way.

Not that Hermione minded. The single problem was that as a result, she’d been forced to remind herself on a continual basis that she could only be friends with him. She didn’t exactly want more—she’d be a fool to go there again—but she wished the possibility were there. She would enjoy watching _him_ fall for _her_ this time, and then she would reject him because of the way he’d treated her before.

“I saw him yesterday,” Pansy said, breaking Hermione out of her thoughts. “All—and I mean _¬all_ —he talked about was this project you’re working on.” Pansy gave her a probing look but said nothing else.

“It’s really fascinating what we’re doing,” Hermione explained.

Pansy waved her off. “I’ve heard all about it already. Trust me. At least, I’ve heard a whole lot of vague descriptions of what you’re doing, since it’s, you know, secret. How much longer do you think you’ll be working on this?”

“I have no idea,” Hermione replied. “We’ve been at it a month now, but I haven’t worked directly on the project in about a week.”

The red team had spent another week in the library after the initial one, creating a master list of all the books in the room. Then Draco and Hermione had spent the following week with the unreadable texts, trying to decipher them. After that, there wasn’t much they could do until Hermione could work with the vials.

Chamberlain had been very agreeable to Draco’s theory and had assured him their project would receive high priority. There was just so much to be done in the castle that there were bound to be periods of inactivity.

Pansy ate another chip and took a drink of her butter beer. “Speaking of Draco,” she said in a low voice, “want to hear something juicy?”

She wasn’t sure she did, but she nodded anyway.

Pansy’s eyes sparkled mischievously. “Honestly, the way Draco talks about this project, you’d never know he had a social life, much less that he’s getting married in a few months.” 

“Oh?” Hermione asked, not wanting to suddenly sound more interested than she should be. “What do you mean?”

“He spends all of his time on that project, even at home. At least, that’s what it sounds like to me.” Pansy sighed and sipped from her glass of water. “Astoria has been over for tea a few times since it began, and I get the impression that Draco isn’t spending a lot of time with her.” 

“Maybe that’s just his way.” Hermione tried to beat away the slight flare of triumph she felt at Pansy’s news. It wasn’t nice of her to be happy to hear that Draco’s relationship with his fiancée wasn’t perfect.

Pansy sniffed. “There’s no telling, really. Of course, I can’t blame him for not wanting to be around her.”

Hermione frowned. “Why do you say that?”

“She’s just … I don’t know. It’s hard to explain, but she’s … boring. Astoria Greengrass is a nice woman, she’s beautiful, gentile—in short, the perfect Pure-blood wife.” Pansy made a face.

“That doesn’t sound so horrible.” The strange compulsion to defend Astoria made no sense to Hermione. 

Pansy shrugged. “There’s nothing wrong with it, certainly, but I’ve always pictured Draco with someone more … interesting. Someone with whom he can really talk, you know? Oh, he and I used to stay up so late at Hogwarts, talking about all manner of things.”

She smiled, a far-off look in her eye. “Draco is very opinionated. Whenever Astoria and I talk, she doesn’t like to discuss. She keeps to safe subjects, like the weather, upcoming social events. The very image of a perfect Victorian woman. Accomplished, you might say.”

Hermione chuckled, thinking of her favorite Jane Austen book and what Elizabeth Bennet had to say about ‘accomplished’ women. “Maybe that’s what he wants in life.”

Pansy frowned deeply, seemingly on the verge of speaking. She finally let out a sound between a frustrated growl and a sigh. “I just want better for him. Is that too much to ask?”

“He knows what he needs better than anyone,” Hermione offered. “Don’t you trust him to make the right decision?”

Pansy’s reply was immediate. “No. They don’t even fight. It’s unnatural. But it’s his funeral. I’ve said my piece.”

“Does he give any merit to your concerns?” Hermione asked.

“That’s what infuriates me so!” Pansy cried. “He completely dismisses me. Usually he at least listens when I have something to say, but when it comes to her—forget it. He’s closed.” She shook her head. “Who knows, maybe he’s blissfully happy. I can never tell with Draco. I know him pretty well, but there’s so much he keeps hidden.”

Hermione couldn’t decide if this conversation was a good thing or not. Hearing about Draco and Astoria’s relationship was interesting, but she didn’t think it was any of her business. 

Despite feeling slightly vindicated upon hearing that Draco might not be entirely thrilled with his choice of partner, she didn’t really want Draco and Astoria to split. If they did, then Hermione would be forced to put distance between herself and Draco because she didn’t want anything to happen between them. At least, her head didn’t; the heart was another story. But whenever she’d let her heart make the decisions, she always ended up hurt, and she wasn’t about to let herself be hurt by him again whether he knew about it or not. No, she’d learned that lesson the first time through.

“He does strike me as a very private person,” Hermione remarked, not quite encouraging Pansy to elaborate while still showing interest in the conversation.

“Well, he is.” Pansy gave up all pretense of eating. “He’s gone through some changes in the last few years, and I only know from observation. I wish he’d told me what was in his head—I asked, I assure you—but he wouldn’t talk about it.”

“Good changes?” she asked.

“Good and bad,” Pansy replied. “For awhile there, he chased everything with tits and a pulse.”

Hermione inwardly cringed, the shame she hadn’t felt in a long time washing over her. She quickly pushed it away, but still hated that she’d been lumped so unceremoniously in with all the other women Draco had been with. It still baffled her that she had read him so wrong, that what had been sweet, amazing, and exciting for her had been nothing more than a game to him.

Pansy continued, ignorant of Hermione’s inner turmoil. “He just didn’t care. It started … about four and a half years ago and lasted for almost two. Then—”

“Wait, how long?” Hermione interrupted. 

“Two years. I remember it because it was my first Christmas married to Ron, and there was a party at Malfoy Manor. Draco was bored, and he bet Blaise and Theo that he could shag three women before the party ended. They accepted gleefully, of course—men—and he proceeded to win.”

Pansy shook her head. “I watched him choose his conquest, lure her Merlin knows where in the Manor, and return alone some time later, still straightening his tie as he sought out the next one.”

“Are you sure you and Ron were already married?” Hermione thought for sure Pansy had made a mistake. The Christmas before their wedding made more sense.

“Yes, absolutely sure.” Pansy took a sip of butter beer. “It was disgusting, and I told him so. He didn’t care. That night was the start of it.”

“Why did he stop?” Hermione asked.

“One of the scads of women told him he’d gotten her pregnant. He freaked out, and for a few days he stayed locked inside his room and refused all visitors and food.” Pansy sighed. “I tried to talk to him. He later told me he just lay in bed and tried to feel nothing. For three straight days.”

Hermione’s heart ached for Draco. He sounded so sad, so lost. “What happened? I know he doesn’t have a child.”

Pansy smirked. “Lucius finally barged into his room and made him sober up and get dressed. Then he insisted that the girl be tested to ensure Draco’s paternity, and then girl had to admit she’d lied. The whore just wanted a chunk of Draco’s Gringotts vault.”

“How awful!” Hermione exclaimed.

“You’re telling me. Course, he had it coming, really,” Pansy remarked. “He was a real sod that whole period in his life. I could barely stand to be around him—half drunk all the time and looking for a bird to bed.”

Hermione frowned. “Wasn’t he working during that time?

The rest of the table burst out laughing, distracting Pansy and Hermione for a moment while they asked what was so funny. Once they’d chuckled along with everyone else, they resumed their conversation.

“He was. And I’ll give him credit where it’s due. He didn’t let his job performance suffer.” She shook her head. “I’ll never understand how, but there it is.”

“Poor Draco,” Hermione said.

“Poor Draco?” Pansy repeated incredulously. “Didn’t hear you anything I just said?”

“I heard everything, Pansy. But he couldn’t have been happy. In fact, it sounds like he was miserable.”

The other witch regarded her curiously for a few moments, then picked up another chip and ate it. “He needs someone like you. Someone who really cares about him. Someone who can hear everything I just said about him and feel sorry for him and not the scads of women he left crying in his wake.”

“Of course I care about them,” she said, more sourly than she’d have wished. After all, she was one of them; wasn’t she? “Though surely at some point, they should have figured out his game, right? Besides, I’m sure Astoria cares about him.” Hermione refused to allow either of them to linger on Pansy’s comment.

Pansy snorted. “In her own way, I’m sure she does. I just don’t understand why he would want a ‘yes, dear,’ never argues, never disagrees, always gives in kind of wife.”

“What matters is that they love each other.” Hermione swallowed hard. “They do … love each other, right?”

“I suppose they must.” Pansy sighed heavily, dipping a few chips in malt vinegar. “I’m sure they do. After the pregnancy scare, Draco quit women altogether. I’m not saying he went the other way, mind you. He just quit that whole scene and threw himself into his work. He’d work twelve, sixteen hours a days, six days a week.”

Pansy chewed thoughtfully for a moment before continuing. “Then one day Narcissa started nagging him about settling down. Draco was twenty-six when this started, which is rather old to be unmarried in our circles. She nagged him relentlessly until one day he asked her whom she thought he should marry. Narcissa suggested Astoria, and the next day he asked her out. _Voilà_. Ten months later, they’re engaged. It must be love.”

Hermione wasn’t sure what to make of Pansy’s story. For Draco’s sake, she hoped he and Astoria loved each other. She wouldn’t wish a loveless marriage on anyone, not even him. His story made her heart ache painfully. What had happened to the man she’d known? 

Just then, Ron threw his arm around his wife and grinned goofily at them. “So what have you two found to talk about over here all quiet-like?”

“Your hair,” said Pansy, playfully mussing his longish red locks.

Ron rolled his eyes. “That means you don’t want to tell me. Fine, be that way, but you’ll have to continue another time. Your opinions are needed on this side of the table.”

Hermione laughed and was quickly absorbed into a heated yet pointless conversation about the Canons’ new uniforms.

**& &&**

First thing Monday morning, Hermione was informed that her team was ready to return to the castle. At the designated time, she went to the conference area where the teams always gathered.

Collin was already there, and he grinned when he saw her. “Morning!”

“Hi, Collin. How have you been?” She sipped slowly from her hot coffee.

“Pretty good,” he said. “I got used to seeing everyone every day. It was kinda quiet around my area last week.”

Hermione smiled. “I know what you mean. I’m the only one from Experimental Potions on the case, so I had no one to talk to about it. I did miss the excitement of the castle and the people.”

Simone walked over and was followed by Draco. While Collin greeted them, Hermione studied Draco. He looked completely wrecked, but she wasn’t about to mention it until they were alone. She hoped she’d get the chance.

One of the team leaders approached then. “Red team. Here are your instructions and Portkey.” Collin took both. “It activates in five … four … three … two … go.”

When they arrived in the library, Collin read the instructions. “Hermione, you’re supposed to work in the kitchen with either Simone or me. The other will remain with Draco and pack up books. Draco, you’ll have another team helping with the packing, but you’re to concentrate on the unreadable books.”

Hermione peeked at Draco, decidedly disappointed that she wouldn’t be spending the day around him. Then she scolded herself; the man was getting married in three months, and she needed to not think that way. She reminded herself she was only mildly concerned about his health, and she’d hoped to mention it to him.

“I’ll go with Hermione,” Collin volunteered, grinning at Hermione again.

She’d still been looking at Draco, and at Collin’s words, his jaw hardened, his countenance darkened, and he glanced at her. His expression was hard, and if she allowed it, she could convince herself it was borne of jealousy.

But that was utter nonsense.

They walked together until Collin and Hermione’s path diverged toward the kitchen. Collin waved to the others cheerfully, but Draco didn’t turn his head or acknowledge it.

The day passed slowly. Collin chattered almost non-stop and, after reading the directions from the team leader to Hermione, had to ask her what to do a few times before he got it. He was certainly pleasant and had interesting things to say, but when Hermione was working, she was goal-oriented. She wanted to start a job and work until it was done, and talking constantly while working distracted her. 

By the time they went to lunch, her nerves were nearing their end. She and Collin joined Simone and Draco, already in line, but she didn’t stay.

“I’ll catch up with you later,” she said. “I want to go for a walk.” Without waiting to see their reactions, she turned and practically fled into the woods, heading for the spot she’d found the first week. 

Once there, she paced around it for a few minutes, trying to massage her neck to force out the nervous tension that had built in her muscles. It didn’t work. Eventually, she relaxed enough to stop walking and leaned against a tree. She had no idea how she was supposed to get through the rest of the day without snapping and biting Collin’s head off.

Really, he was a nice bloke, but—

Crunching twigs made her grit her teeth. If he had followed her out here, she might just blow, despite the fact that she’d calmed down a lot.

However, the newcomer walked through a patch of light, and no one but Draco had hair that positively glowed in the sun. She relaxed.

“Hi,” he said when he saw that she’d seen him. 

“Hey.” She smiled.

“I hope it’s all right, but I brought you lunch.” He showed her the extra sack he’d brought.

Thoroughly confused by his behavior, she wasn’t sure what to think. “Erm, thank you.”

“I’m almost certain you’ve gotten that sandwich before.” He crossed the clearing and gave her the bag, then went to another tree and sat down.

Hermione laughed quietly and sat down where she was. 

“You were missed at the lunch table,” he said. 

“I needed some air. Some space,” she replied. “That vial room is really small.”

Draco nodded, intent on his meal. “Should I leave you to eat in peace then?”

“No, you’re fine,” she rushed out, then looked away before he saw her cheeks pink. “It’s just … well, Collin is rather enthusiastic. And talkative. I just needed to be away from that for a while.”

They passed the next couple of minutes in silence, and Hermione found it odd that the quiet was now refreshing, whereas before Draco showed up, it was merely a relief. Perhaps passing the quiet with someone was better than doing it alone.

“I’m almost finished with packing my books,” Draco commented. “How is your job going?”

“Slowly,” she said with a groan. “They want each vial packed separately in special shatter-proof boxes. Then each box has to be labeled with the same inscription that’s on the vial, plus the shelf and column information. I suspect they’re going to try and recreate the layout of the room, which I think is a good idea. The process is just the epitome of tedium. And Collin would rather talk than work, and that’s just not the way I operate.”

He chuckled. “If you want, when I finish my task, I can come help you. Send Collin back to the library to work there.”

“That would be fantastic,” she said before she could think. “As long as you promise not to talk my ears off.”

“I won’t say a word,” he promised solemnly. “Unless you speak first.”

“Deal.” She grinned. After taking a few bites, she looked at him. He was yawning. “I hate to say this, but you look even worse than the last time I asked if you’d been sleeping.”

Draco snickered, then sipped from his bottle of butterbeer. “I have been sleeping less, thank you for noticing.”

She smiled, then remembered the conversation she’d had with Pansy about Astoria. Surely he wasn’t spending all of his awake hours on work. “Is everything all right?”

“Yeah, I’ve just been working really late recently,” he explained. “Chamberlain granted me the time and means to do a little … extra research.”

“Extra?” she repeated, intrigued. 

“I’ve been to Egypt, Ireland, Turkey, China, and India over the last few weeks, talking to language experts, trying to find anything similar to what we’ve found.” He yawned again. “Just talking about it makes me tired.”

The news that he had been working so hard forced her to see him in a new light. Pansy had said he’d thrown himself into his work, and this was more evidence of that. Hermione wondered how Astoria fit into the picture, imagining it would be terribly lonely to plan a wedding when the man you’re marrying is off on a secret mission that takes him all over the world.

Then she felt a pang or two of jealousy that he’d gotten to travel. But when he yawned yet again, she realized his travel hadn’t been leisurely.

“That’s amazing,” she remarked. “I’ve done a bit of work on my own time. I’ve researched potions and techniques from the time period, collected some pieces of equipment that were used four hundred years ago, and purchased a reprinted book or two that contain detailed information on what they knew of potion ingredients back then. I’ve just been going over those while I waited.”

“That sounds fascinating, though,” Draco remarked. “I’m glad you were able to find something to do while we wait.”

“Me too.” 

They lapsed again into comfortable silence. Hermione enjoyed eating her meal in the cool air of the forest, listening to the distant sound of water running, and glancing at Draco every few seconds. Merlin, she was starting to really enjoy looking at him again, and that simply wouldn’t do.

“Have you finished that book?” Draco asked after a long while.

“Oh! Yes.” She nodded enthusiastically, her mouth still full of food. 

He chuckled at seeing her hurry to finish chewing. “Sorry. What did you think of it?”

She swallowed, then took a drink of water. “It was very good. Like you said, it makes you think.”

“I really liked the way the author mirrored his seven points. One good point led to the discussion of one of the bad points.” Draco crumbled up his sandwich wrapper, tossed it in the air, and sent a Burning Charm after the wad. A heap of ashes rained down around his legs. He brushed it away. 

“Me too,” Hermione agreed. “He showed the positive strides we’ve made since the end of the war, then contrasted them with the ways nothing has changed.”

“And even mentioned the one area where, in his opinion, we’ve gone back a step.” Draco shifted his weight to stretch out his legs. “I’m not sure I entirely agree, but it was interesting to read. Have you read his first book?”

“No, but I saw a blurb about it on the jacket of _Seven Reasons_.” She took another bite of sandwich.

“I’ve got it. You can borrow it if you’d like,” Draco offered.

She nodded, still chewing. “I’d like that,” she said once she was able. 

“It’s similar to _Seven Reasons_ , but while that one was written for a more general audience, _Shedding Light_ was written for … well, me.” He smiled sheepishly. “I checked the acknowledgements and everything, but he must’ve left off my name.”

Hermione gave him a curious look. “How do you mean it was written for you?”

Draco started absently tapping his wand on his leg. “The author showed two sides of the whole blood purity debate. The first half of the book deals with the history of it, going back through time and tracing the roots of bloodline issues. He even describes a number of reasons why it’s good, how it helped our race in the past, how it helps us now.”

“I would love to read that,” Hermione said, her lunch forgotten. “Since I didn’t grow up in the wizarding world, I learned about the issue in piecemeal. It’s such a taboo subject that there aren’t—or weren’t, at least—any good books on the subject when we were in school.”

“When I read it, when I reached the end of part one, I felt pretty good about myself. No, genocide wasn’t the answer, but at least I felt justified in my actions.” He shook his head, chuckling to himself. “Then there’s part two. Like _Seven Reasons_ , it’s a mirror of the first part, describing all the ways the blood issue harms the wizarding world, harms progress. It was eye-opening from the first sentence. I couldn’t put it down; I finished it in a day.”

“Wow!” Hermione exclaimed softly. “I … I can’t wait to read it.”

“There are so many things I would do differently,” Draco admitted, avoiding her gaze and pulling at tufts of grass. “If I could. But I can’t, so … I just have to hope that by never doing them again, I’ll be forgiven.”

Hermione wasn’t sure if he was talking about his crimes as a Death Eater or for the way he’d treated her specifically, but she didn’t much care. “I forgive you, if that helps,” she said, hoping she wasn’t making a huge mistake in assuming he was talking to her.

Draco remained with bowed head for a few seconds, during which Hermione anticipated all the ways he could deride her comment. Then he looked up and smiled, the most sincere one she’d ever seen on his face. “It does help, actually.”

They stared at each other across the small clearing for what felt like an eternity—or no time at all. 

The sound of someone walking toward them snapped Hermione out of the moment, and she blushed, scrambling to pick up her trash.

She and Draco stood just as Collin appeared. He didn’t seem too pleased to find Hermione with Draco.

“Oh. There you are,” he said to Hermione. “I was wondering if you were ready to get back to work.”

“I am.” She smiled, feeling slightly lightheaded and unsure of which direction was up. The conversation with Draco, which had ended only seconds before, already felt like a dream she was still having.


	6. CHAPTER FIVE

**CHAPTER FIVE**

The next day, when Draco gave Hermione the book, he sheepishly smiled. “I hope you don’t mind—I marked in the book. A lot.”

“Oh, that’s fine,” she said, accepting it. “I do the same thing with books that really make me think. Thanks again.”

She and Draco finished packing the vials before lunch, and then they spent the rest of the week in the library working with Collin, Simone, and the other team at boxing the books.

She and Draco interacted more every day. Though they talked a lot about work, they frequently discussed other things as well. Books, Ministry policy, food, travel wishes—almost everything was fair game.

Off limits by an unspoken agreement was their history and any present or former relationship. If she didn’t constantly remind herself, she’d forget that he was engaged. By the end of that week, Draco seemed almost as happy and carefree as he had five years ago. There was still hesitancy and restraint in his eyes, but he never missed an opportunity to speak or joke around with her.

At lunch on Friday, Collin and Simone had to go back to the Ministry, so Draco and Hermione sat together. He told her not to make any plans for the fifth of June. Hermione froze, confused. He couldn’t be asking her out … could he?

“It’s my birthday,” he explained, reddening slightly. 

“Oh! All right, then. What do you have in mind?” she asked. She’d expected to feel relieved that he hadn’t asked her out—not that he would, he was engaged, for Merlin’s sake!—but instead she felt only extreme disappointment.

It was at that moment she realized she fancied him—a lot. In just over a month, she had stopped hating him, had started to consider him a friend, and now realized she wanted him to kiss her. He’d become the one person she wanted to talk to, the person she thought of first when she woke up and last before falling asleep. She hurried to work and stayed late so she could spend more time with him.

The worst part was that he’d made it too easy.

“I’m not entirely sure yet,” he replied nonchalantly. “Dinner with friends, though I haven’t decided where.”

She assured him she’d love to come, but she couldn’t help but feel anxious. Now that she’d acknowledged her attraction to him, shouldn’t she start pushing him away, distancing herself against the inevitable? His marriage was a mere fourteen weeks away, and she doubted his bride would appreciate him being good friends with another witch.

However, the thought of pushing him away made her sad. Draco had come to mean something important to her, despite their past, and if she couldn’t have him in a romantic way, she at least wanted to hold on to their friendship.

The next two weeks were spent waiting for the Department of Mysteries to further analyze the vials. They couldn’t detect what any of the potions were, but they performed tests to detect any dangerous reactions the solutions might have to air, water, and other basic substances.

Finally, on the first Monday in May, a team leader entered the Experimental Potions lab. Hermione was in the middle of reading an article in the latest issue of _International Potions_ and looked up when the door opened.

“Hermione Granger?” the wizard called.

“Over here,” she said, waving.

“Your artifacts have been inspected,” he told her, handing her a now-familiar-looking set of instructions. “A lab identical to this one has been set up for you in our secure facility. You may bring anything with you, but you’ll be working on the artifacts there.”

“Oh!” Hermione gasped. “Wonderful! All right, um, let’s see ….” She conjured a box and started filling it with her 17th-century equipment.

The wizard watched her skeptically. “All of this?”

“Plus these.” She conjured another box in which to put a stack of old potions books and textbooks.

“If you say so.” The man sighed and levitated both boxes. “Follow me.”

Hermione was led to the blue circular room and then through another door she’d never really noticed before. 

When she mentioned this, the wizard sighed. “It’s got Notice-Me-Not wards on it. This is the special research wing.”

She didn’t ask any more questions despite wanting to, as her companion didn’t seem interested in talking. It didn’t surprise Hermione one bit that even in the Department of Mysteries there were hidden areas.

They stopped at a door labeled forty-seven, and the man touched his wand to a pad on the wall beside it. The door opened.

“The password is ‘castle moor,’ and I’ll need your wand in order to set the system to recognize it and grant you entrance.” He held out his hand.

“My wand?” she repeated.

“I’ll have it back to you in no time,” he assured her, leading her into the room after she’d deposited the magical stick in his hand.

A long table just like the one at her workstation sat near the back wall. There was a door in that wall with a plaque she couldn’t read. When she glanced around the rest of the room, she saw Draco sitting a few feet away at a table of his own, separated from her table by two other long, black tables. His parchments and work were all spread out, and Hermione suspected he’d been working in there a while.

He was watching her, amused.

Unintentionally, she smiled, and he nodded.

“The station should contain everything you need,” her escort said, setting the boxes down on her table. “But if there’s anything else you need, just let us know.”

“So … this room is ….” She trailed off, hoping he would finish her sentence.

“The workroom for this project,” he flatly. “Others may be in and out as the need arises. Don’t worry, no one gets into this room who isn’t authorized to be.”

“All right.” Hermione smiled. “Thank you.”

The wizard mumbled something and left.

Hermione didn’t look at Draco but got started unloading her box. He must have glided over, because she didn’t hear him approach.

“What’s all this?” he asked, looking over everything she’d set out.

She started, and he chuckled.

After a quick glare, she grinned excitedly. “This is everything I told you about. All the 17th-century potions equipment.” She pointed to a few items. “Cast-iron pot—very heavy—an old cauldron stand and heat mechanism …. Look at these vials. Here.” She held one out. “Hold it.”

Draco accepted it and his eyebrows raised, surprised. “It’s hefty.”

“There’s lead in the glass,” she explained, returning the vial. “What have you been up to?” she asked, indicating his table.

Draco rubbed his eyes. “I’ve been in here about four days. I think I’m starting to dream in this … scribble language.”

Hermione smiled sympathetically. “Any progress?”

“No,” he said, frustrated. “I know there’s no real point in bothering with it, but I have to do _something_. Your work is the key, I just know it.”

“Well,” she said brightly, unpacking her books, “I’m excited to begin.”

“Do you mind if I stand here a bit?” Draco asked, stretching his arms behind his back.

“Not at all.” Hermione read her instructions while Draco examined one of the books. “Oh!” she exclaimed after a few lines. “This door ….” She turned the handle to the door behind her. “Contains the vials.”

Draco came around the table to look.

Hermione sighed as she glanced in. “It’s an exact replica of the vial room in the castle.”

“Right down to the wood used for these shelves,” Draco observed, running his hand along the edge of one. “Nice attention to detail.”

“This is it.” Hermione pulled out a short list. “Want to help me find these vials? They’re the ones we found in the potions books.”

“Sure,” he replied.

It took nearly an hour to find all seventeen vials, but the time passed quickly with Draco’s company. 

“Thank you,” she said once they were back in the main room.

“It was nothing.” He shrugged. “So what happens now?”

“I’m going to start by smelling all of them,” she replied. At his skeptical look, she smiled and uncapped one. “They’ve all been cleared for smelling, opening, even touching. I’ll start with my nose because scent is a very powerful sense.”

“Potions sometimes have very distinctive smells.” Draco nodded.

As do people, she thought, noting his proximity and remembering the way he’d smelled that night when he was kissing her. Tequila and lime and whatever cologne he’d been wearing. 

“Like Amortentia,” she pointed out, forcing her thoughts back to the task. “Though I know none of these vials contain that particular potion. No pearly white liquid.”

“Right.”

She gave him a sly smile. “Are you anxious to get back to your work?”

“Give me a batch,” he said with a grin.

Only one potion reminded Hermione of anything she’d smelled before, and she had no idea what it was.

“I reckon I’ll start with this one,” she said with a shrug.

“What are you going to do?” Draco asked, leaning on the table to watch her work. 

Hermione started by piping equal portions of the potion into fifty small vials with her pipette. “I’m going to begin by looking for the fifty most common potions ingredients. The kit comes with fifty reagents that, when added to a potion, tell me if the ingredient is in the solution.”

“Fascinating,” he said, watching intently as she added the reagents one after another into the fifty vials. “Then what?”

Hermione sighed. “Then … I do test after test in the hope of finding everything.”

Draco sucked in a breath. “That doesn’t sound fun.”

“It’s fun, just time-consuming,” she said.

“Will you be able to tell how much of something was used?” he asked. “I suspect that’s too much to hope for.”

“It’s possible,” she replied. “On some things, I might. It depends on the ingredient, how it was prepared and used in the potion.” 

Draco pointed to one of the fifty vials. “There’s something there.”

At the bottom of the tube was a pile of sediment. Hermione smiled. “That means mustard leaf was used in this potion. And since I know how much liquid I put into the vial, I can figure out how much of the leaf was used in the potion.”

He smiled. “Brilliant!”

“Hardly,” she scoffed, examining the remaining vials for reaction.

“I suppose I should let you get to it, then.” Draco pushed himself off the table and slid his hands into his pockets. “I’ll just … be over there ….”

Hermione glanced up, already focused on her next step. “And I’ll be right here.”

Draco chuckled and returned to his table.

The rest of the morning sped by, and before she knew it, Draco was talking about lunch. When she told him she’d brought her lunch, he looked slightly disappointed but recovered quickly.

The afternoon passed just as quickly as the morning. Hermione didn’t even flinch when the chime sounded, announcing the end of the workday. She just kept right on working.

She and Draco talked sporadically throughout the day, but she was so focused on her work that her end of the conversation was severely lacking. 

The magical windows were black when Hermione cried out. “Yes!”

Draco looked up. “Another one?”

She nodded excitedly. “Ghost carp scales. That brings us to mustard leaf, gillyweed, and ghost carp. Not a bad start.”

Draco stood and stretched, then capped his quill.

“How about you?” she asked, starting to clean up her area. “Anything?”

“No.” He yawned. “Just a stiff neck.”

For a moment, she envisioned crossing to his side of the room, pushing him down in his chair, and rubbing his shoulders. He’d be grateful and gently tilt her face down for a slow, luscious kiss. Then he’d pull her into his lap and his hands would be—

“How many ingredients do you have left to find?” he asked, breaking her line of thought.

She glanced down so he wouldn’t see her cheeks burning from her brief fantasy. “If I’m reading the instruction list right, there are eight.”

Hermione couldn’t believe she’d just imagined him kissing her! What was she thinking? She could never volunteer to touch him anywhere; it would be crossing a few lines. He was engaged to someone else, she was highly attracted to him, and they had a strict no touching policy. Like that night, if contact occurred, it was diligently ignored.

Hermione grabbed her bag and turned off her torches, anxious to be out of the suddenly small room with him. “Are you staying?”

“No, I’ll walk out with you. Give me a minute.”

Once outside the Department of Mysteries, Draco gave her a sideways glance. “It’s nearly ten.”

Hermione shook her head. “I can’t believe it. We completely missed dinner.”

“I don’t know about you, but I’m rather hungry.” He pushed the button to call the lift.

“Me too,” she remarked without thinking. 

“I know this little café around the corner,” he said once they’d reached the lobby. “They serve a mean shepherd’s pie.”

Now she was very confused. “Are you suggesting we have dinner together?”

Draco shrugged, as though it was nothing out of the ordinary. “Why not? We both need to eat. Better together than alone, right?” He gave her his most charming smile for effect.

Hermione considered mentioning Astoria but chose not to. Draco hadn’t momentarily forgotten about his fiancée, so why should she be the one to bring her up?

“All right,” she assented against her better judgment. Dinner with him could only lead to thinking about him more than she already did, giving her more fond memories of him. Though, she’d get to listen to his voice for at least half an hour more.

“Brilliant.” Draco smiled. “Now, there’s nowhere safe to Apparate nearby, so I suggest we take the visitor’s entrance.”

Hermione’s eyes widened. “The visitor’s entrance?” she repeated. The very small, very confined red phone booth she had used during fifth year with Harry?

Draco nodded and started walking toward it. “You call it from here.” He touched his wand to a panel on the wall. The device rumbled to life, and within a few minutes, the phone booth appeared.

“After you.” 

Draco held open the door, and Hermione warily stepped in. Surely this was a very bad idea. Even though the booth magically expanded to accommodate the number of people inside, it didn’t allow much extra room.

Hermione turned around just as Draco closed the door. The booth started moving, and he turned to face her. They were inches apart, so close she had to look up to see his face. Which turned out to be a very bad idea. He was staring at her strangely, as though torn between Apparating out right that moment or ….

He reached up to scratch his head and had to take half a step forward in the confined space. His body brushed against hers, and she recoiled as though burned, only to bump into the wall behind her. Their bodies remained separated only by the barest of margins. 

She was perilously close to going out of her mind. She wanted to kiss him; she wanted him to kiss her. Truthfully, she didn’t care who kissed whom, so long as it happened. Her heart was racing, her throat had gone dry, and she didn’t want to but oh-she-did want to snog him senseless in the tiny box. 

However, she never let on that she was in such distress. She kept her gaze resolutely forward and was forced to look at his chest for the entire ride, trying not to remember the feel of his skin beneath her fingertips.

Draco stood very still, staring out of the booth at the ground as it dropped away. His jaw was set as though he was angry.

When the booth came to a halt, Draco rushed out, breathing deeply of the cool night air. Hermione followed, feeling slightly disoriented. Being so close to him had been confusing, to say the least. She’d felt the tension radiating from his body while at the same time wanting to be closer to him. 

“It’s just a couple of blocks this way.” Draco stuffed his hands in his pockets and started walking.

Hermione fell into step beside him, taking a few deep breaths to clear her head. Casting about for something to talk about, she blurted out the first cohesive thought that came to mind. “How are the wedding preparations coming?”

He frowned and gave her a skeptical look. “You don’t really care, do you?”

She chuckled nervously. “No, but I couldn’t think of anything to say.”

Draco shrugged. “They’re coming, I suppose. I try to stay away from them as much as possible.”

“Oh.” Hermione tried to find something interesting to say but couldn’t. What she really wanted to ask was if he was happy, truly thrilled, marrying the woman of his dreams. But that was far too personal, and besides, she wasn’t sure she wanted to hear him declare undying, passionate love for his fiancée. Even though that’s exactly what he should do. “Are you excited?”

Now he scowled. “Excited? About the wedding? Hardly.”

When he didn’t expound, Hermione fought with herself about asking him to. “Why not?”

He gave her an ‘are-you-serious?’ look, then kicked a stone down the sidewalk. “It’s turning into this huge … thing. With a life of its own. My parents are using it to show off, to show how much they’ve changed, conformed to the new way of the world. Astoria’s parents aren’t much better. She and I have little say in anything.”

Draco shook his head and made a frustrated sound. “I don’t even want the bloody thing.”

“Would you rather elope?” she asked quietly. 

“I would rather the thing be about us,” he replied, catching up to the stone and kicking it again. 

Hermione cringed at the softness in his voice, what she could only interpret as evidence of his regard for his intended. “That doesn’t sound like too much to ask.” Her response was laced with resignation.

Draco glanced at her sideways, and she wondered if he picked up on it. He didn’t say anything however, and they stopped at a red light.

“It’s just over there.” He pointed to a clump of shops a little down the street on the opposite side. They crossed when the light was for them and walked in silence toward the café. Draco stopped just before reaching it and groaned. “Oh no. It looks like they’re closed.”

Hermione went to the door and checked the hours. “They’re open for breakfast and lunch.”

“Bugger. I’ve only been here for lunch.” Draco stood awkwardly, as though he didn’t know what to say or do. 

“That’s all right,” Hermione said, feeling extremely relieved. “I should get home anyway. Late night tonight, and I want to be well-rested for tomorrow.”

Draco smiled, apparently relieved as well. “Sure. All right.”

“Good night, Draco,” Hermione said, starting off down the street in search of a place to Disapparate.

“Night, Hermione,” he called after her.

**ooo**

The rest of the week continued much the same. Hermione and Draco worked together in the special room set aside for the castle mission. They ate lunch together and talked most of the day, and Draco helped Hermione test potions since he didn’t have much to do on his work until she fully analyzed one of the vials.

Every night, Draco arranged for food to be provided for both of them, with the exception of one evening when he told her unenthusiastically that he had to meet Astoria for dinner.

When the weekend came, Hermione found herself missing him, thinking about him at random times during the day. She saw a book on translating runes, ate a slice of raspberry tart at Ron and Pansy’s, and saw a shirt that reminded her of him. 

On more than one occasion, she’d considered contacting him about something she’d heard or seen, but then she’d realized he probably lived with his fiancée. The last thing Hermione wanted to do was speak to the woman Draco was due to marry in a little over two months.

Just after lunch on Monday, Hermione had a breakthrough. 

“Oh!” she exclaimed, staring at the liquid in the vial. “OH! That’s it!”

Draco rushed to her side. “What? What’s it?”

She turned to him, beaming. “The potion! I-I’m done analyzing it!”

His eyes widened. “Really? Are you sure?”

“Yes, positive.” She pointed to nine small tubes. “With each new ingredient I found, I removed it from a sample of the potion. Each tube contains one less ingredient than the one to its left. The very last one contains only water. Which means we now know the eight ingredients in the potion!”

Draco grinned and, before she could think, gave her a quick but excited hug. “That’s excellent, Hermione! Well done.”

Her heart racing, she reached for the instructions of the potion she’d just analyzed that she’d copied out of the potions book she’d found. “Yes, see? There are eight distinct, short lines before the paragraphs start. Those must be the ingredients. And I have relative quantities for more than half of them.”

Draco shook his head. “You’re amazing.”

As she considered the reality of her discovery, her smile fell. “Well, it’s a start. I’m afraid one set of ingredients isn’t enough to help you decipher the script.”

“Probably not, but it’s a place to start. May I?” He reached for her list of ingredients. “I’ll copy this down and then see if it tells me anything.”

“Sure,” she complied. “Let me know if there’s anything I can help with.”

“No, no, you just start working on another one,” Draco told her.

Hermione nodded, already looking through the other instructions she had copied. As far as she could tell, none of the other potions had any ingredients in common with the one she’d just analyzed, but there were two potions that appeared to have at least one item in common with each other. She would start with those.

**ooo**

At just after eight the next morning, someone came into the room where Hermione and Draco were working.

“You’re on the red team, right?” the witch asked, glancing at a clipboard.

“Yes,” Draco replied. 

The woman nodded. “A box containing six more vials has been discovered, and your team is being deployed back to the castle to investigate. Meet in the departure area in fifteen minutes.” With that, she left.

Hermione quickly finished her task, corking all the vials she’d separated and putting out her flame. She could feel Draco watching her the whole time, lounging in his chair, but she didn’t look at him. His presence alone was distracting enough.

“Ready?” she said finally.

“I am,” he replied, getting up from his seat.

Together they hurried to the designated spot to find that Collin and Simone were waiting.

Their greetings were cut short by one of the team leaders handing Collin the instructions and the Portkey.

After arriving on the grounds, Collin read aloud. “We’re to head through the castle toward the back. I … just follow me, these instructions are lengthy.”

Hermione tried to pay attention to where they were going, but there were so many turns that she lost track. They arrived in a very decorated bedroom.

“This is the bedroom of the Lord of the castle,” Collin read. “The box of vials was found in the closet behind a faux door that was only discovered yesterday. Hermione, Draco, you’re to catalog and then package the vials for transport back to the Ministry.”

“All right,” said Hermione. “How long do we have?”

“The rest of the day, if you need it,” Collin replied. 

The box was made of ornately carved mahogany, and six vials were housed vertically inside, held upright by a thin brace. She pulled each vial out one at a time and showed them to Draco.

“Do you recognize any of them?” she asked after he’d transcribed all the labels. 

“There’s one I think I’ve seen before,” he replied, capping his quill. “But that’s it.”

Hermione turned to Collin. “Where are the storage boxes?”

“Oh, um … let me see ….” He ran his finger down the page. “They’re in the next room over. I’ll go get them.”

“I’ll come too,” she said. “They can be a bit unwieldy.” 

Collin smiled widely, and she wondered if he was starting to fancy her. Either way, she’d have to be careful around him so she didn’t encourage his interest.

“I’m going to fetch a few bottles of water,” Draco remarked. “Would anyone like one?”

She and Simone said yes, and Draco exited the room as well. Once they’d emerged from the bedroom into the hallway, Draco turned left, and Hermione and Collin turned right toward the other room.

They had to stop a few feet down the hallway to allow two people carrying something to pass into another room. The item was a round, clear ball, and inside it, light crackled and snaked around itself in all the blazing colors of the rainbow. It reminded Hermione of something she’d seen as a child, except this one sparked with raw magic. 

“How’s your work been going?” Collin asked, once they could move again.

“Good,” she replied sedately. “Yesterday was quite a success.”

“Oh? How so?” 

She didn’t get the chance to answer Collin. In the room where the glowing ball had been carried, someone started shouting. There was a loud crash, and the wall beside her exploded.


	7. CHAPTER SIX

**CHAPTER SIX**

 

_Draco felt a strange pulse go through his body just before the big bang. He stopped and was in the middle of turning around when he saw the wall explode. Hermione was near the end of the blast zone, but she was hit._

_His heart stopped as he watched her fall, the blood coming too quickly, too soon._

_He didn’t even think; he ran over to her and started pulling the rubble away with his bare hands._

_Collin grabbed his arm. “Malfoy! Wait. You could hurt her worse if you move her.”_

_“Shove off,” he replied gruffly, rolling up his sleeves._

_The other man took a sharp breath when he saw the remnants of Draco’s Dark Mark._

_All he could think as he continued removing stones was that he couldn’t let her die. She simply couldn’t cease to exist in his world. He didn’t bother to think about why; the image of her being hit with the large stones was one he didn’t think he’d ever get out of his head._

**ooo**

Her head was pounding, and there were people yelling all around her. All she could think, all she could sense, was the pain, and she would do anything to make it stop.

She felt her body jostle, sending waves of fresh agony through her head and down her spine.

“I think she made a sound!” someone shouted in her ear. Why were they being so bloody inconsiderate? Couldn’t they tell by the look she was giving them that she wanted them to go away? Wait … had she made a noise? She couldn’t hear anything over the rude people yelling and the throbbing in her ears.

More jostling, more excruciating pain. Then a voice she knew, one she’d dreamed about more often than she’d ever admit, sliced through the haze.

“Careful,” it snapped harshly. “You’ll hurt her more.”

“Oh, that’s rich. Considering the way you were trying to get to her. He knows what he’s doing, Malfoy.” That was Collin. His voice wasn’t nearly as pleasant, and it grated on her very raw nerves.

“Sod off,” the melodic voice barked. As lovely as it was, she still wished it would be quiet.

“Both of you, back off.” A new, unfamiliar sound broke through her muddled thoughts, and she coughed.

“She’s awake!” exclaimed Collin.

Hermione tried to sit up, but strong hands held her down. Then she tried to tell everyone to turn the noise down, but her throat was scratchy.

“Not just yet, Ms. Granger.” The third voice was calming now. “I’m Healer Davies. Can you tell me where you’re hurt?”

A bright light shone in her eyes, and she pushed it away. It caused the pain to swell.

“What hurts?” the Healer repeated.

“My head?” she croaked out.

“You hit it pretty badly,” Davies confirmed. “Anything else?”

She tried to move and pain shot through her left side. “Arm.”

“Yes, it’s broken. Any other pain?”

“Just … all over ….” She tried to focus on the people around her but they were all fuzzy shapes. Then she smelled something awful, something that seemed to travel up her nose and into her brain, clearing away that haze that she’d been in since waking. 

She made a face. “That’s horrible.”

The Healer chuckled. “I know. I’m sorry. It’s supposed to help though. How do you feel?”

Hermione blinked, pleased to discover that the fuzzy shapes were slowly becoming outlines and then people.

The Healer looked like Roger Davies, the handsome bloke a few years older than her. He probably was Roger Davies, once she thought about it. Then she saw Collin, looking at her with a relieved smile.

Draco was there too, sitting a few feet away from her and the other two, dirt and muck all over his clothes. And he was … glaring at her? Hermione frowned. That didn’t make sense. She glanced at him again. His expression had softened only slightly. He still appeared angry.

“Ms. Granger?” said Davies. “Can you see and think more clearly?”

“Yes,” she said, nodding thickly. “It’s still quite muddy though.”

“I believe you have a concussion. I’d like to heal your arm now.” Davies began running his wand over her left arm.

She bit her lip when it hurt. “What happened?”

“There was an accident,” said Collin. “In that room. That ball thing we saw. I think it reacted poorly with something else.”

Hermione looked where he was pointing and saw an enormous hole in the wall. On the other side, people were scrambling around a smoke-filled room. “Was anyone hurt?” she asked, glancing around at the men sitting with her. Draco’s expression, she noted, had softened even more.

“Three seriously,” said Davies. “They’re at St. Mungo’s. One man … didn’t make it.”

“That’s awful,” she whispered. “Ouch!”

“All set!” the Healer announced. He procured a handful of vials from his pack of supplies. “Now, you’re going to need someone to look after you for a few days, and I want to see you in my office tomorrow for a follow-up. Do you live with someone?”

Hermione shook her head, wincing when it sparked another wave of pain.

“Do you have somewhere you can go?” Davies asked.

She didn’t want to go to Harry’s; he had two roommates and no extra space. Ginny was a little too unreliable, and she too didn’t have any room to spare. She glanced at Draco to find him scowling at her again.

“Is Pansy doing anything?” she asked, ignoring his glare. 

“She’s probably doing what she always does. Nothing,” he replied. “If you can’t get her, then contact my mother.”

Hermione sent him a grateful smile, which he did not return. Confused, she returned her attention to the Healer. 

“You need to take a vial of this now and then again in four hours,” Davies informed her. “I’ll send you home with information.”

“Home?” she repeated. “I don’t want to go home; there’s work to do.”

Draco snorted and she sent him a questioning look. He just rolled his eyes.

“I’m afraid you’re done for the day,” Davies informed her. “You need to take it easy over the next couple of days. You may not feel them now, but you’re going to have a whole bunch of scrapes and bruises. I anticipate you’ll be very sore tomorrow.”

“What about the vials?” she asked stubbornly.

“I’ll make sure they arrive safely. They’ll be waiting for your return,” Draco said dutifully. 

“Can one of you escort Ms. Granger back to the Ministry to wait for her friend?” the Healer inquired, glancing from Collin to Draco. “I’ll send word immediately for the friend, but Ms. Granger shouldn’t travel alone right now.”

Collin shot Draco a look, as though waiting for him to speak. When Draco said nothing, Collin volunteered. “I’ll do it.”

Hermione was surprised that Draco didn’t offer, then was surprised at herself for expecting him to. But she couldn’t think about much of anything for too long without her head throbbing. 

“Let’s get her up.” Davies looped an arm around her back and instructed Collin to do likewise. Together the men helped her stand.

She was very glad for their presence because she wasn’t sure she could walk on her own. After a few steps, her legs gave out entirely. Out of the corner of her eyes, she saw Draco tense and move like he was going to help, but then he stopped and pulled back.

“I’ll walk with you to the Portkey,” Davies offered.

Hermione concentrated on not knocking into anything, on keeping her head from exploding whenever they rounded a corner and saw bright light or when someone bumped into one of her escorts. 

The travel by Portkey nearly made her sick. Collin then administered the first potion, and Hermione felt markedly better. Enough that she could hobble along with only him for support. They left the Department of Mysteries and waited in the hallway outside the main door. It was far quieter there than the Atrium.

Collin Conjured a chair, and she sat heavily, her limbs feeling like lead. 

“Thank you,” she said, smiling at him.

“It’s nothing.” He waved dismissively. “Though … there’s something I think you should know.”

“Hmm? What’s that?” she asked, closing her eyes and resting her head on the back of the chair.

“He’s engaged.” Collin’s words were stilted, his mannerisms stiff. He didn’t look at her.

Hermione knew she should know to whom he was referring, but in her concussed state, she just couldn’t make the connection. “Who?”

Collin stared at her warily. “Malfoy.”

“Oh. I know.” His words hit her with the force of a tidal wave, and she nodded repeatedly. “I know.”

“You … know.” Collin frowned. “All right then. I … just don’t want to see you get hurt.”

“Thank you. Draco and I are friends. That’s all.”

Collin muttered something she couldn’t understand.

A chime sounded the arrival of the lift. “Hermione!”

She raised her head to see Pansy running barefoot down the hall, her three-inch heels in hand. “Oh, Hermione!” she gasped when she reached them. “Are you all right?”

“I think so?” She shrugged.

“What happened?” Pansy demanded, rounding on an unsuspecting Collin. Then Pansy’s eyes widened. “Who are _you_?”

“I’m Collin.” He gave Pansy a friendly grin. “I work with Hermione.”

Pansy smiled mischievously. “How very interesting. Can you tell me what happened?”

He shrugged. “Not much of it. She was hurt. She has a concussion—hit her head really hard. Here are the instructions from the Healer and the vials she’s supposed to take.”

Pansy scanned the parchment quickly. “A potion every four hours, let her sleep but wake her to take them. If she wants to stay awake, she can. No food restrictions.” Her expression was all business. “I’ve got it. Thank you, Collin, I’ll take her from here.”

He handed Pansy a Portkey. “Specially set up for you. It’ll put you in your front parlor.”

“Thank you. Aren’t you sweet?” Pansy took the rusty old key and made Hermione grab it. “Ready to go.”

This time, Hermione was sick.

**ooo**

When she woke up, it was nearly dark out. Her headache had calmed to a dull ache that throbbed with fast motion or bright light. At first, she didn’t remember where she was or what had happened, but it slowly came back.

Pansy jumped up from a chair in the corner when she noticed Hermione stir. 

“There, there,” she said, fussing with the blankets. “You’re just in time for your next potion. Here you go, drink up.”

Hermione made a face and fell back onto the pillow. “Horrid stuff. Why can’t they give these potions nice flavors?”

Pansy patted her hand. “That’s the Hermione we all know and love. How do you feel? Are you hungry? Thirsty?”

“Pansy, thank you so much,” she said sincerely. “I really appreciate this.”

“Nonsense. It was either here with me or on Harry’s nasty, filthy sofa.” Pansy shuddered. “What kind of friend would I be to allow such a travesty?”

Hermione smiled. “I’m hungry. And thirsty.”

“Good. Dinner will be ready soon, and Ron’s due home any minute. You just rest here a minute while I bring up a cup of tea.” Pansy bustled out of the room.

Hermione knew the witch enjoyed having a charge under her care. Pansy was surprisingly motherly, and she was bound to make a great mother.

The time alone and clearer head allowed Hermione to think. Draco had been decidedly strange after she came around, almost hostile. She couldn’t think of any reason why he would suddenly have an issue with her, so none of her theories made sense. Granted, she hadn’t known him long, and based on what she’d observed when first partnered together, she knew him to be moody and aloof at times.

Still, he hadn’t been that way toward her since the beginning.

“Here we go,” said Pansy upon her return. She was carrying a tray with teapot, tea cup, a sugar dish and creamer, plus a silver basket with a variety of tea bags on it. “How do you take it?”

“Two lumps of sugar,” Hermione replied, selecting a jasmine tea bag. “Thank you.”

“No need to thank me,” Pansy scolded lightly. “I’m just glad I can help.”

“Where am I?” Hermione glanced around the room. The décor was exquisite, the furnishings rich, the fabrics elegant. In short, Pansy. 

“You’re in the guest room,” she replied. “Where you’ll be staying for the rest of today and at least all of tomorrow. Healer’s orders.”

Hermione started to protest, but then Ron burst through the door. He greeted his wife with a slight nod, then went to Hermione’s side.

“Are you all right?” he asked, his brow furrowed with worry.

Hermione smiled to reassure him. “I’m going to be fine. Just a bit of a headache is all.”

“Harry and I have been worried all day.” Ron fidgeted with the edge of the blanket. “I couldn’t concentrate at work for anything, and I know Harry was the same. He’ll probably be over in a little bit to check on you.”

“That would be nice,” she said. “I haven’t seen Harry in a while.”

“Yeah,” Ron stated, “you’ve gone and let work dominate your life again. I don’t like it, Hermione. See what it’s gotten you?”

She scoffed. “This was a complete accident that had nothing to do with my work ethic. It was the middle of the day. You worry about me too much.”

Ron went to stand beside his wife, kissing her gently on the cheek. “You don’t worry about you enough.”

A knock sounded, startling Hermione. Ron and Pansy exchanged a look, then Ron said, “That must be Harry. I’ll get it.”

“Are you sure you want all this company?” Pansy asked, a worried expression on her face. “I don’t want you to get tired out. You still need to eat dinner.”

“It’ll be fine. It’s just Harry,” Hermione assured her.

Ron returned quickly, a quizzical look on his face. “Hermione, er, you have a visitor.”

She glanced up, expecting to see Harry and possibly Luna, but instead Draco shuffled into the room. He looked awful, his face forlorn and sad. 

“Hermione,” he said stiffly. “Pansy, Weasley. I apologize for the intrusion. I just wanted to make sure you were all right.”

“I will be,” she replied.

Draco wrung his hands, his brow creased from anxiety. “Good.”

“Would you like some tea?” Pansy offered, indicating the tray. “Dinner will be ready soon, you’re welcome to stay.”

“No, thank you,” he replied stiffly with a slight bow. “I can’t stay. I merely wanted to be sure of Hermione’s well-being. It’s hard to believe anyone could walk away from that with only a few bruises.”

“I didn’t walk away,” she teased lightly. “I was practically carried away, if you remember.”

The corner of his mouth lifted in an approximation of a smile. “Excellent point. Well, now that I’ve seen that you haven’t keeled over since this afternoon, I’ll be on my way.”

“Are you sure?” Pansy jumped up and cornered him before he could leave. “You’ve just arrived. A cup of tea, I insist.”

Draco shook his head. “I simply can’t tonight. Another time, I promise.” He inclined his head toward Hermione and then Ron, then took his leave. Pansy huffed after him while Ron chuckled.

When Pansy returned, she threw herself in the chair and crossed her arms. “There was something wrong with him. Did you see it?”

“He always looks like that,” Ron teased. “Pale, pointy, irritable, constipated ….”

“Ron,” Pansy warned. 

He chuckled but said nothing further.

“Don’t you agree, Hermione?” Pansy asked again. “He looked … bloody awful, really.”

Draco had looked a bit peakish and unwell, but she didn’t want to give the impression that she knew him well enough to know. Maybe she didn’t, for all she knew. Her head started to hurt. 

Pansy must have noticed a change in her expression because she jumped up and fussed with the blankets again. “Do you want dinner now?”

Hermione yawned, suddenly very tired, and shook her head. “Maybe later.” She was asleep before they turned the light off.

**ooo**

When she returned to work that Friday, she felt better than she had in a long time. The soreness had gone away, as had the raging headaches. She was still taking the concussion potion every twelve hours, but she’d rested more over the last few days than she could remember doing … ever.

Hermione was smiling as she entered the lab, and upon seeing Draco, her smile grew. “Morning, Draco!” she said pleasantly.

He didn’t even look up and mumbled what she could only assume was a greeting. Surprised but not to be disheartened, she went to her station and starting working.

Draco said nothing to her all morning; he didn’t send even a wayward glance her way. By lunch, Hermione was ready to scream, and she was about to question him when two other wizards walked into the room, talking in hushed tones. They set up some equipment on the two tables that stood between hers and Draco’s.

Only then did she catch Draco’s eye, and he quickly looked away. 

That night, she let herself cry about Draco. She was angrier than anything, at him and at herself. She then laughed out loud when she realized that she’d had the same exact thought the morning he’d left her in the hotel room. Maybe one day she’d learn. After that, she dried her tears and refused to let Draco make her sad again.

**ooo**

His silence continued the following week, but Hermione carried on with her work as though she didn’t care one whit. That wasn’t true but the last thing she would ever do would be to let on that she missed him.

Tuesday, she completed analysis for the second potion and cheered silently. The two wizards were still in the room with them, and conversation simply didn’t happen. But she beamed as she started work on the third potion, the one she hoped would help Draco crack the code. She went home early.

On Wednesday morning, the other two tables were devoid of their previous contents, and a cup of coffee from her favorite café was sitting at her station.

Hermione picked up the cup and addressed its giver. “Is this supposed to be some sort of peace offering?”

Draco gave her a shamefaced smile. “It’s a start. I’m sorry.”

She wanted to stay mad at him, to make him suffer just a little longer if she could, but he was giving her his most penitent face and charming smile. Her resolve weakened—slightly.

After taking a sip—coffee with hazelnut cream, her favorite!—she glared at him. “I don’t suppose you’re going to tell me what the silent treatment was all about.”

“No, I can’t do that.” He moved one table closer. “But I am sorry. I hope you know what it takes for me to say those words together. I don’t think I’ve ever put them in that particular order. Certainly I’ve never really meant it.”

She narrowed her eyes at him. “So why should I believe that you mean it now?”

“Because you know it’s true.” His tone had lost the humor it had contained moments ago, and he silently implored her to forgive him.

Hermione rolled her eyes. “Fine. But you’re buying lunch.”

Draco grinned, relieved. “Done.”

“For the rest of the week.”

“Not a problem,” he said happily. “I can even buy you a restaurant if that would make you happy.”

“That won’t be necessary,” she informed him. “Now, tell me what you’ve been up to? Any success?”

He scoffed and sat down on the table. “No. I’ve been analyzing the labels on the new vials, but still nothing.”

“Well, then you’ll be happy to know that I completed the second potion yesterday,” she informed him.

“You did?” he exclaimed. “Why didn’t you tell me?” 

She sent him a leveling glare. “Because you weren’t talking to me yesterday.”

“Oh. Right.” He dragged a hand through his hair, leaving it slightly mussed. “That.”

“Yes. That.” Hermione quirked an eyebrow at him. “Just one more potion, and then I think you’ll have something to work with. I’ve already identified two of its ingredients. One was easy, since I knew where to start looking. Both this potion and the one I finished yesterday appeared to have an ingredient in common. And they do.”

“Yeah?” he asked, getting off the table and going to her station. “Let me see.”

Hermione set the instructions for both potions side by side and pointed to the identical line on each. “That’s black hellebore nectar.”

“Do you think I could have a look at this?” he asked, intently studying the sheets.

“Sure. They called the black hellebore nectar ‘brewer’s foil sap’ because the flowers are actually white, not black. In case that helps.”

“It might. Thanks.” Draco carried the sheets with him back to his table and got to work.

**ooo**

On Friday, Hermione finished the third potion, and she let out a cheer, drawing Draco’s attention.

“You did it?” he asked excitedly.

“Yes! It’s done. Come see.” She waved him over. “Here are the nine ingredients in potion two, and here are the six ingredients in potion three. Since you’ve already got a few ideas for some of the characters, do you think this will be enough?”

Draco stared at the documents for a long while, his brow furrowed in concentration. Finally he shrugged. “All I can do is try.”

“Let me know if you want any help,” she remarked once he’d taken the potion instructions and her analyses back to his table. “You helped me, and you never know when another pair of eyes might be helpful.”

“Excellent.” He smiled. “I’m sure I would appreciate your help.”

Hermione cleaned up her area, then sat down to relax for a few moments. Since she’d been given the vials, she’d worked non-stop, often late nights, with few breaks—with the exception of the time she took to recover after the explosion. Now it was Draco’s turn to do the work, and she wondered if she would end up staying late with him, as he’d done with her. Certainly, if they were working together on figuring out the script, but he was the expert and she wasn’t sure if she’d be any help.

“Are you going out tonight?” he asked, not looking up from his parchment. 

“With Harry and Ron?” Hermione yawned, feeling strangely exhausted. Perhaps the lack of sleep was finally catching up to her.

“Yes. Astoria has been invited and accepted, which means I’ll be there, too.”

Hermione frowned, trying to figure out why he was telling her this. She couldn’t care less about Astoria—wanted to see nothing of her, in fact. Willingly seeing the two of them together would be tantamount to masochism, and she wasn’t in favor of self-inflicted pain. 

“I didn’t know that,” she replied, slightly disappointed. She’d been looking forward to spending the evening with her friends.

“You’re still coming, right?” Now he looked up, apprehension in his eyes. 

“Er, well ….”

“You have to,” he stated, going back to his work. “I’ll have no one to talk to if you don’t.”

She sniffed. “You’ll have Astoria.”

“Not when Pansy’s around,” he grumbled. “Astoria has got it in her head that Pansy doesn’t like her—can’t imagine where she’d get that—and she really wants to try and be friends, since Pansy is an old friend of mine. I wish Pansy would meet her halfway. At least Astoria is trying.”

Hermione didn’t want to hear about how wonderful Astoria was. If Draco started regaling her with his fiancée’s finest qualities, Hermione would leave the room. But that didn’t seem like Draco’s style.

She wanted to believe that he wanted her there for no other reason than because he enjoyed being around her. Though perhaps Draco Malfoy didn’t come right out and admit such things. If Astoria spent all her time talking to Pansy, then perhaps Hermione wouldn’t have to watch her with Draco.

“I told Harry I’d be there,” she sighed. “There’s no backing out even if I wanted to.”

A few hours after lunch, Draco asked Hermione to join him at his table. She pulled a chair over and sat while he talked through his progress, showed her everything he’d done to try and solve the mystery, and soon they were attempting to translate the actual directions on both sheets of instructions.

It was painstaking work, as each character in the strange script required careful study. A tiny extra flourish on one glyph might mean it was another letter altogether, or that the writer simply held the quill to the page an instant longer than usual.

Hermione was halfway through when Draco said, “Oh dear. We’re late.”

“What?” She glanced at the clock and saw that it was already a quarter ‘til eight. They were supposed to be at the restaurant at seven-thirty. “Oh, bollocks.”

Draco smirked at her language and grabbed his things. 

Hermione rushed to her table for her bag and cardigan, then followed Draco out of the room. They hurried through the Ministry, and Hermione was grateful their destination was in Diagon Alley and not Muggle London, as they could simply Apparate.

They arrived at the end of the street and made their way to the restaurant. 

“What do you make of the code?” Draco asked as they walked.

“It’s unlike anything I’ve seen before,” she replied. “Why do you call it a code? It’s a language of runes.”

“It’s what I do,” he explained. “I break codes. Whether they’re languages, numbers, symbols—it’s all the same to me.”

“Do you realize what this means?” Hermione gasped as the realization hit her. “We’re uncovering a totally new language. Even if it was only used in that castle, it’s still entirely new to the wizarding world.”

Draco nodded enthusiastically, then opened the door for her. He lowered his voice since they were inside—not to mention the fact that they were discussing highly classified information. “I’ve thought about that. It’s amazing to be a part of it, isn’t it?”

She beamed as she followed him through the packed tables. “It is! Just think, we could be in books!”

They rounded a corner and saw their friends. Ron waved them over. 

“I think that’s a certainty,” he murmured so only she could hear. His breath ruffled her hair very slightly, and she shivered. “Trying to see how many times your name can be published?” he teased. 

Without allowing her to respond, he took his seat beside Astoria.

Hermione glared playfully at him as she sat across the table from him between Harry and Pansy. 

“Nice of you to show up,” Ron grumbled.

“I see you didn’t bother to wait,” Hermione observed, glancing pointedly at his half-eaten plate of fish and chips.

“We were hungry,” he said defensively, stuffing another chip into his mouth and grinning.

She smiled back and perused the menu, despite knowing what she wanted. As soon as Draco had taken his seat, Astoria had clasped his hand on the tabletop. She was now whispering in his ear, smiling at him as though he was the only person in the room. Draco returned her smile while he looked at the menu. He whispered to her occasionally, and once she giggled. Hermione couldn’t watch.

“So where have you two been?” Pansy asked once Hermione and Draco had given their orders.

“Work,” they replied simultaneously.

Luna looked at Hermione, an unreadable expression on her face that despite its ambiguity made Hermione uncomfortable. It was as though the other witch could read her thoughts, knew exactly what Hermione was thinking.

“When will your project be finished?” Astoria asked. “I miss my Draco.”

Hermione saw Pansy roll her eyes. Astoria’s voice was soft and gentle. It had the potential of being both very soothing and very forceful, though elegantly so.

“It will be done when it’s done,” he replied with a sigh, ordering a beer from the waiter. 

Hermione gave her order, resigned to wanting to throttle something for the entire evening. Astoria was… seemingly perfect, which made Hermione more miserable than she’d imagined. The witch was very proper, seemed comfortable even around people she didn’t know well, laughed pleasantly but not excessively, and seemed to have a secret that she refused to share. And Hermione had been in the woman’s presence a total of five minutes or less. 

“So, Hermione.” Speak of the witch. “Draco tells me you’re helping him at work, but all I’ve heard him say is that you fetch lunch most days.” Astoria laughed lightly.

Everyone at the table stopped mid-sentence and stared at either Hermione or Astoria. The former wore an expression of pure surprise; the latter appeared confused at the sudden, strange attention. Draco was scowling at something.

“Oh, I do more than that, I assure you,” Hermione replied sharply after collecting her wits. “I fetch him biscuits from the cafeteria whenever he asks, and when he’s really tense, I massage his shoulders. Sometimes that takes hours because … well, you know how it is. Those really big knots need a lot of pushing and kneading.”

The others laughed awkwardly while both Draco and Astoria turned red, though she suspected for very different reasons. It was the closest Hermione had come to touching on her past with Draco, and while it felt good to see Astoria squirm—and possibly wonder what Draco was doing all those late nights—she immediately regretted making him uncomfortable. Merlin, she had it bad.

Astoria turned to her fiancé, tears welling in her eyes, and whispered, “What is she talking about?”

“She’s joking,” Pansy snapped. 

Draco glared at Hermione, then threw his napkin onto the table. “My dear, I think I’m quite finished and anxious to be gone.” He stood and held his hand out for Astoria.

Gingerly, she accepted it, and he gently pulled her up. Then without a word—only a final, scathing glare at Hermione—he stormed out of the pub in flourish of tailored robes. 

“What just happened?” asked Ron once the dust had settled in their wake.

“No idea,” said Harry, glancing warily at Hermione. “Anyone have a guess?”

Hermione just shook her head, her mind still spinning over what had happened. And in the briefest of moments, too. One minute they were all getting along well, the next Astoria insulted her and she responded, albeit rather harshly. Then Draco was angry, with good reason, but Hermione was angry at him too.

“Let’s … talk about something else,” suggested Luna. 

The others agreed and forcefully began a new conversation. Hermione stayed out, trying to puzzle out her thoughts, and eventually the tension dissipated.

Pansy leaned over at some point and whispered, “She’s threatened by you. That’s why she said that.”

Hermione gaped incredulously at her friend. “Me? Why on earth would she be threatened by me?”

“If Draco talks about you to her half as much as he talks about you to me, she’d think he’s half in love with you,” Pansy explained.

“Oh!” Hermione blushed. “But apparently, all he says is that I fetch food for him. Surely she wouldn’t think he c-cares about me.”

“Which is ridiculous,” Pansy continued. “I don’t buy for one instant that that’s all he says about you. I know how much he respects you and your work, how much he enjoys working with you. He wouldn’t belittle that in talking with her.”

_Then why did she say it?_ Hermione could think of no logical explanation other than the one Astoria had offered. Her heart plummeted after the moment’s high. Just the idea that Draco could be in love with her had made her lightheaded. Her entire being had thrilled at the idea, and with a sinking feeling, Hermione realized she loved him. 

_Loved him._

How could she have let it happen? All that night, she tried to determine where she’d gone wrong, when the moment had occurred, but she couldn’t pinpoint an exact event that felled her heart. She should have pushed him away the moment she realized she cared for him. Then she wouldn’t be in this situation. 

But no amount of wanting and wishing it so would change a thing. That night, she cried herself to sleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading!


	8. CHAPTER SEVEN

**CHAPTER SEVEN**

Draco ignored her all day Monday, which suited Hermione just fine. It would certainly make falling out of love with him much easier if he never spoke to her or looked at her again. 

When Tuesday passed without a word exchanged between them, Hermione started to want and also dread the reality that she and Draco were no longer friends. For the sake of her heart, she needed a clean break.

The next day, however, she wasn’t so lucky. After lunch, Draco pulled a chair over to her table and sat in it backwards.

“Don’t you even care why I’m upset with you?” His tone was a mixture of amusement and anger. 

The question caught her off guard in the worst way possible, and she barely paused in her work. “You’re upset?”

Now he scowled. “Yes, I am. And to be honest, I’m tired of watching you not care.”

Hermione tensed. The amusement had vanished from his tone and features. “Then don’t watch.”

Draco stood and flung the chair away. “Why did you say that to Astoria?” he demanded, leaning over the table and grabbing her arm.

She had no choice but to stop what she was doing and look at him. “Surely you know the answer to that,” she snapped. 

Anger was good; she liked this feeling. She was angry that he’d been exactly what she wanted, that he’d said all the right things, given her all the right looks to make her fall for him. _Again_.

“She was trying to talk to you,” he returned, frustrated. “She was interested in hearing what you do here. That’s all.”

“Well, I certainly won’t apologize for what I said.” She jutted her chin in the air, all bravado and self-righteous. “She insulted me; she deserved what she got. Let’s leave it at that.”

Draco huffed angrily. “She certainly didn’t mean to insult you, Hermione. _You_ are the one who took her comment personally! And let’s say she had meant to hurt you. Do you really think that your comments carried equal weight? She implied that your work was little more than an errand girl, and you responded by insinuating that you and I are—”

Hermione held up her hand to stop him. She didn’t want to hear the words he was about to shout at her and felt the tiniest pang of guilt. 

He was seething. “I spent the entire weekend trying to repair the damage your little comment wrecked. Astoria was nearly inconsolable.”

“It’s not my fault she doesn’t trust you to keep it in your pants,” Hermione snapped, immediately regretting her words but not backing down an inch.

His eyes blazed. “I am not perfect, but I do _not_ cheat,” he spat through gritted teeth. “She was trying to make friendly conversation with you, and you were out of line.”

“She meant to insult me. What was that little laugh after her question?” Hermione crossed her arms defiantly. 

Draco sneered. “Two wrongs don’t make a right, Granger.”

She bristled. “I couldn’t care less. Apparently, all I am to you is someone who fetches lunch most days. Where did she get that idea if not from you?”

“I don’t talk about the details of our work!” he shouted. “All she’s ever heard me say is that you and I are working together. I can’t discuss the assignment; you know that. I may have mentioned you getting lunch a time or two, but Merlin, I certainly have never belittled you or lessened your role in this work.”

“You certainly didn’t do anything to dissuade her,” Hermione argued. 

He rolled his eyes. “She’s never asked me what you do! I had no idea I needed to dissuade her of any notions. She was trying to be civil, which apparently, you’re incapable of. I have no idea where she got that idea—” 

“Spare me,” she interrupted coldly, pretending to go back to her work. She was really starting to feel horrible and knew she should apologize, but pride kept her from doing it. If she could focus on staying angry with him, it would help. “You did nothing when she said it.”

“What would you have had me do?” he demanded, grabbing her chin and forcing her to look at him. 

For an instant, all her anger disappeared, and she felt hopeful at the thought of kissing him. But the fury in his eyes told her in no uncertain terms that a kiss was the farthest thing from his mind.

“Grow a pair?” she suggested sarcastically.

Draco released her in disgust and shook his head, then wordlessly stomped back to his table. 

Hermione returned her attention to the vial she’d started analyzing, but she was shaking too badly to do anything. She hated confrontation no matter how well she could hold her own. Her nerves were frayed, and she’d gone through the gauntlet of emotions since Draco started yelling. 

She couldn’t stay angry though because she knew she was partly to blame. Instead of attempting to reconcile, she’d added fuel to the fire. Yes, she wanted to get over Draco, but she cared about him so much that it hurt to see him hurt. 

A walk would do her good. Hermione grabbed her bag and rushed out of the room, not daring to peek at her erstwhile lover. Once she’d regained a semblance of control and calm, she went to the Experimental Potions Division instead of the workroom she shared with Draco. She just needed a few hours away from him and his sweltering glares.

****

ooo

Hermione didn’t go back to the special workroom the next morning. She’d been caught up in a project and returned to Experimental Potions to finish it.

At around ten, the door opened, and out of habit, she glanced up to see who’d entered. When she registered Draco’s shockingly white-blond hair, she did a double-take while he scanned the room. 

His eyes came to rest on her, and he made his way through to the room, hands stuffed in his pockets and his gaze downcast.

“Morning,” he muttered.

She raised an eyebrow and said nothing.

Draco sighed heavily. “Look, I’m sorry, all right? I was embarrassed; I didn’t know what to do that night. I was horrified at what she said, though she meant nothing by it, but if I stood up for you, she’d be angry. If I corrected her, she’d be upset that I wasn’t supporting her or some such rubbish. Yet because I said nothing, you’re not happy.”

“Are you always going to defend her?” Hermione’s tone was chilly. “Even when she’s blatantly wrong?”

“I didn’t defend her,” he argued.

“By saying nothing, you did exactly that.” Hermione started putting away her most caustic potions. She couldn’t just sit there while he attempted to make things right again. Not when she didn’t know how she wanted to respond. It was still easy to be angry with him, and anger kept a nice, solid, definable line between them.

“I had a choice. I could either say nothing and keep her happy, or speak up and keep you happy.” Draco was tense now. “I chose the former.”

“As you should have,” she said quietly. “After all, she’s the one you’re marrying.”

Draco inspected the table with a tired frown. “Perhaps. But she was in the wrong. As you said, by saying nothing, I allowed everyone at the table to think I had told her you do little more than fetch lunch. That’s unacceptable.”

Hermione shrugged. “What’s done is done. She and I never have to interact again.”

“Why do you say that?” he asked, alarmed.

“Why would we?” she countered. “My only connections with her are Pansy and you. Pansy doesn’t like her much, and you ….” She trailed off, unsure how to finish her sentence.

“Me what?” he demanded. “Aren’t we friends?”

They’d finally reached that moment where they defined their relationship. The f-word threatened to make her sick. “I suppose. But face it, Draco. We’re only friends because we’re working on this project together. Once it’s over, we won’t have occasion to meet. I highly doubt your new bride would appreciate you being friends with me.”

“We can do things,” he said weakly. 

She leveled him a patronizing look. “Right. We’ll meet for coffee in the mornings or the bookstore on weekends. Did you really think this would last?”

“So then … what? This whole time, this … thing with us has just been a way to spend the day?” He’d gone slightly paler, and his hands were shaking. “Is that all?”

Hermione glared at him. “Yes, Draco. I only talked to you because you were slightly less dull than Collin.” She grabbed a stock item that belonged in the back room and made to return it. 

“I’m not joking,” he said, stepping in front of her to block her from walking away and grabbing her arm. “Tell me right now. Is that all this is?”

Here was her chance, her opportunity to send him running from her life. The clean break she needed had been presented to her on a silver platter, and all she had to do was take it. Say yes, and he wouldn’t talk to her anymore. They’d go back to where they’d been for almost five years—happily ignoring each other. 

And really, what was the point of telling him that she did consider him a friend? It couldn’t last. They weren’t lifelong friends the way she was with Harry and Ron. It _did_ matter that he was marrying someone else because she wanted to be that person. At least, she wanted the chance to be one he wanted to wake up next to.

Their future flashed before her eyes, and all she saw was her heart being broken over and over. Astoria would hate her, she’d make things impossible for Draco, and then he, wanting to be rid of the strain in his marriage, would sever all ties, possibly breaking her heart again. And she didn’t think she was strong enough to watch him leave, to send him into the arms of another woman.

This was her one chance to cut her losses, and she’d be a fool not to take it.

With tears in her eyes, she nodded. “Yes, Draco. That’s all this is.”

He studied her carefully, his face twisted in confusion and disbelief. He saw something in her eyes, however, that caused him to put up a wall. When he dropped her arm, his face was a blank mask, devoid of emotion. 

“Fine,” he snapped. “Then I see no reason to inflict my barely-tolerable presence on you at any point in the future.”

She swallowed hard, refusing to let a single tear fall or to betray her real feelings. He stared at her long and hard for an eternal moment, then spun on his heel and walked away without looking back.

As soon as he was gone, Hermione rushed into the back room, locked the door, and released the floodgates.

**ooo**

That night, she barely slept, and when she did, she had bad dreams that entailed watching Draco marry Astoria over and over and over.

Hermione wondered if she’d made a mistake; how could the right decision to protect her heart feel so wrong? Every time she thought about it, she came to the same conclusion. She had no other choice. But every time, she felt miserable. Had she thought about it before things had progressed this far, back when they were just starting to speak to each other, she’d have realized that a friendship with Draco was impossible, but at every step of the way she’d ignored her head and followed her heart.

And her heart led her straight to the special workroom the next morning, bleary eyes and unkempt hair.

When she walked in, Draco looked up and instantly suppressed a grin as he turned back to his work. Hermione stood just inside the door, more torn than she’d ever been in her life. 

Eventually, she concluded that she’d made the difficult, right decision the day before, and now she could do whatever she wanted.

Fresh tears in her eyes, she went straight to Draco. He stood at her approach, surprise registering on his face. Hermione stopped mere inches from him, and he sucked in his breath, watching her warily, as though ready to fend off whatever curse she sent his way. Then she slowly wrapped her arms around him, forcing him to move closer.

Draco remained very still for the first few moments, then gradually relaxed and returned her embrace. 

“I’m sorry,” she whispered between sobs. “I’m getting your shirt wet.”

With her ear pressed to his chest, she felt as well as heard him chuckle. “It’s okay,” he murmured softly.

Long before she wanted to, Hermione forced herself to pull away. She could have stayed that way forever, lost in the feel of his arms, the sound of his heart, and his scent. 

“I lied,” she said miserably.

Draco now seemed torn, and he took a few steps back. “What about?”

“You. Us. Our f-friendship. I’m not sure how it happened, but I don’t like the thought of not being able to call you my friend.” She was still lying, but at least this one moved her closer to him and not farther away. She wanted to call him so much more.

“Me either.” He moved back closer and reached out to wipe her tears away. “No more crying, all right?”

Hermione nodded, blinking the remaining tears out of her eyes. “You were so right. I shouldn’t have said that to Astoria. What she said … it brought back so many fears of never being good enough for this world, of never being taken seriously despite what I can do. I attacked her as viciously as I could.”

“Don’t worry about it,” he consoled, again stepping away. He took a deep breath. “I’m sorry that she didn’t speak her thoughts more clearly. She could have phrased her question better.”

“Don’t apologize for her,” she scolded lightly. “It’s nothing you did.”

Draco sighed and stretched his back. “No. But she will be wearing my name soon.”

Hermione swallowed a fresh batch of tears. “Regardless, casting aspersions on your character was wrong. I am very sorry about that. Though I didn’t care how angry I made her, I did feel awful for causing you grief. I wasn’t a very good friend.”

He smiled, and it warmed her all the way to her toes. “Tell you what. I’ll forgive you if you forgive me.”

“But you didn’t really do anything,” she protested.

Draco ignored her and held out his hand. “Do we have a deal?”

“All right,” she agreed, taking his hand and shaking it. “Deal.”

ooo

On Tuesday morning the next week, Hermione stood gazing into her closet, begging for the right thing to jump out at her. It was Draco’s birthday, and he’d told her he was taking everyone out somewhere special, but hadn’t said where, only that she should dress nicely.

Her first thought was her sexiest, look-at-me dress, but then she remembered that she wasn’t dressing to impress him. Astoria would be there, and if Hermione wanted a chance at having a nice time, she shouldn’t give the other witch anything to work with.

Instead, she decided on a knee-length bright royal blue dress with a scoop neck, thin belt, and pockets. It was pretty, flirty, and flattering, but didn’t advertise anything. She put the dress in a garment bag, grabbed a pair of pewter sandals, and headed for work.

****

ooo

“You need to be ready to go at six-thirty,” Draco reminded her for the nth time that day.

“Relax,” she told him. A quick glance at the clock revealed that she still had twenty minutes before she needed to start getting ready. Hermione returned to measuring the water in a beaker.

Draco breezed over, took the beaker out of her hands, and pointed to the door. “Go. Now. Please?”

“All right, all right!” she exclaimed. “I assure you, it won’t take me long.”

“Then just do it for the sake of my nerves,” he demanded, pulling the garment bag off the hook where she’d hung it and thrusting it at her. “Thank you.”

Hermione rolled her eyes but did as she was asked. He’d been skittish and antsy the whole day, and she couldn’t imagine why. After taking off her work robes, she slipped the dress over her head and smiled at her reflection. The dress made her feel pretty.

She pulled her hair back in a messy bun and applied a neutral shade of shiny lip gloss. A dab of color on her cheeks, a swipe of shadow on her eyes, and she was ready to go. She stepped into her shoes and cast a spell to fasten the clasp around her ankles.

It had taken her only fifteen minutes to get ready, so she walked back into the workroom with a smug expression on her face.

Draco was pacing by his chair in a sharp, black set of dress robes, and he looked up when she entered. 

Hermione secretly delighted in his expression. He was completely stunned, evinced by the sheer astonishment on his face. After gaping at her in disbelief for a few long seconds, he shook his head. 

“Granger, I don’t know about that dress.”

She blinked, her turn to he stunned. “What? Why? What’s wrong with it?” she asked, smoothing it down, checking for spots or rips.

Draco chuckled deeply. “How do you think you look?”

“Pretty,” she replied easily.

“There’s something about a woman who doesn’t know she’s beautiful,” he murmured. 

Hermione blushed bright red and looked away, cursing the heat suffusing her cheeks. “I’ll just grab my cardigan,” she said, anxious to get away from his intense scrutiny. Why oh why did he have to say things like that? She took her time collecting her things, waiting until her cheeks weren’t burning.

“Ready,” she finally said, still avoiding his gaze.

“Good. We have an appointment upstairs. Shall we?” He opened the door.

Now she whipped her head up to face him. “Upstairs? What do you mean?”

“The International Port,” he explained, indicating that she should leave the room. “Dinner tonight is in Paris.”

“Paris!” she breathed, examining his face for signs that he was joking.

“It’s my birthday, and I want my favorite restaurant.” He shrugged. “It happens to be in Paris. All the guests have Portkeys that will take them there, but since you were here, I arranged for both of us to travel by Apparition. I prefer it.”

Hermione nearly pinched herself, but instead focused on the witch who would be waiting for Draco. Thoughts of Astoria were enough to steady her heartbeat and calm her blood by the time they reached the Apparition point. 

Draco handed the attendant a ticket and stepped onto the platform. He motioned for Hermione to join him, and she did, warily. 

“Enjoy your evening,” the attendant said flatly as he pressed a button. 

Fortunately, Astoria wasn’t there when they reached the restaurant, and Ron and Pansy were. Hermione sat with them, hoping Draco would sit somewhere she wouldn’t be able to see him.

“Wow, Hermione,” said Ron appreciatively. “You clean up nice.”

Pansy elbowed him. “Ignore the half-brain,” she said. “You look amazing. Is this dress new?”

“No, I wore it to Lavender’s wedding a few years ago,” Hermione replied.

“You are spectacular tonight, Hermione.” Pansy turned to the guest of honor. “Happy birthday, Draco.” 

“Thank you,” he said, smiling warmly. 

The other guests began to arrive, and Hermione was extremely glad for Pansy and Ron’s presence. Half of the people at the long, sixteen-seat table she didn’t know, and the other half were former Slytherins. Theodore and Daphne Nott arrived with Astoria, who sent Hermione a warm smile before sitting down beside Draco. Greg Goyle was there as well with a date, and a few others she recognized. 

Last to arrive was Blaise Zabini, and on his arm, in a beautiful floaty peach dress, was—

“Ginny!?” Ron exclaimed as his sister sat down across from him.

“Don’t you dare make a scene, or so help me Ron, I will hex your bollocks into next month,” she bit out.

Ron gulped and nodded.

Blaise smirked, and Ginny glared at him. “You watch it too. I’m still not quite over last night.”

The meal began, and Hermione was having a great time. She barely looked in Draco’s direction, speaking mostly to her own friends. After the dishes were cleared, Astoria handed Draco a brightly wrapped package.

“I know you said no gifts.” She smiled serenely. “But when I saw this, I had to.”

Draco quirked an eyebrow at his fiancée. “Well, if you had to.” With thinly veiled curiosity, he nevertheless meticulously opened the package. His eyes widened as a book was revealed. “Wow, thank you, Astoria.” He smiled at her.

“You’re welcome.” The witch smiled graciously, as though almost embarrassed at Draco’s heartfelt, enthusiastic reaction. “I thought the dedication was especially interesting.”

Draco flipped the thick book open and after a moment, read aloud. “‘To Georgiana. Thank you for arguing with me every step of the way. For forcing me to see the world in all its brilliant colors, the bright lights and the shadows. Without which, life would be dull. All my love, Oliver.’”

“Isn’t it beautiful?” Astoria smiled lovingly at Draco.

He continued staring at the book for a few moments, then turned to his fiancée. “It is. Thank you.” He leaned over and pressed his lips chastely to hers. Astoria beamed.

“Not like she’d know anything about arguing,” Pansy muttered. “Or being someone’s inspiration.”

“What book is it?” Hermione asked, drawing the stares of most of those gathered.

Draco didn’t seem to mind. “It’s a book I’ve been looking for a long time. It’s a journal of sorts, a record of this man’s days. He was born in the seventeenth century, and he was alive before, during, and after the Statute of Secrecy went into effect. He writes about his experiences and observations of the Statute.”

“That’s sounds fascinating,” she said, smiling.

Astoria took Draco’s hand and turned a genial smile toward her. “I’m sure Draco would be happy to let you borrow it when he’s finished.”

A couple of people sniggered, making Hermione feel self-conscious. She sat back in her seat and tried to remain inconspicuous for the rest of the evening.

“You two kiss and make up?” Pansy asked under her breath.

Hermione felt her cheeks redden. “What?”

“You and Astoria,” Pansy clarified. “She was what you might call nice just then.”

“Oh.” She let out a sigh of relief. “Draco and I talked. I supposed he cleared things up with her. I know you don’t like her, but she seems really nice.”

Pansy rolled her eyes. “I have no complaints about her general demeanor. She’s very proper and elegantly spoken. But she’s just so … so boring! Trust me. You’ve never had to talk to her for any length of time.”

Hermione hoped she never would.

“So when are you going to be finished with your project?” Pansy asked. “Astoria was over the other day for tea, and she mentioned that Draco’s never around anymore. Are you working like he is? Late nights and all? I got the impression that she hasn’t been getting any lately.”

Hermione almost choked on her drink. “I think we—er, Draco, specifically—are close to something big. Any day now.”

“Good for her.” Pansy leaned close to whisper. “If she was smart, she slipped a pair of tiny, lacy knickers in there, right where that dedication is.”

The very last thing Hermione wanted to think about was Draco, Astoria, and skimpy knickers. Sure, if she’d wanted to think about it, she could have acknowledged that Draco and the woman he was going to pledge his life to were sleeping together, but she’d never wanted to think about it. She just hoped Pansy wasn’t going to discuss it any further.

“Want to know a secret?” The other witch’s eyes shone mischievously. 

“I don’t know,” Hermione replied honestly.

Pansy ignored her hesitation. “I’ve heard … it’s just a rumor, mind you … that their bedroom sessions leave something to be desired.”

That jarred Hermione’s thoughts right off track. “Oh,” she managed weakly.

“I remember their first time,” Pansy continued. “Draco had earned himself something of a reputation during his … looser days. Everyone said he was bloody fantastic. So Astoria was expecting … fireworks, I suppose. I saw her a few days later, and she pulled me aside, frantic.”

“Why you?” Hermione asked, unable to stop herself. She was simply too curious for her own good. 

“She thought that I would be able to provide some … insight, that we could compare experiences.” Pansy chuckled smugly. “I told her I couldn’t speculate, as I’ve never had that particular pleasure. She was somewhat crestfallen but hid it well.” 

Hermione could only shake her head. It was difficult to believe that a night with Draco could be anything but spectacular, and he was supposed to be in love with Astoria. Only fireworks were conceivably possible. Hermione shivered involuntarily at the thought of Draco’s touch, his lips hot against her skin as he whispered those words in her ear ….

Pansy didn’t notice. “It’s my understanding that nothing has really improved in that arena. I mean nothing. But no one knows that. Everyone assumes it’s resplendent, and she has no choice but to let them continue believing that. Granted, she doesn’t exactly mind for people to think she’s getting shagged into the mattress springs every other night. She’d just like it to be true now and then.”

“Wow. I wonder why it’s so bad,” Hermione mused, more to herself than her friend.

“I can only see one conclusion,” Pansy remarked. “She’s awful. I’ve never heard a word of complaint about Draco, so … what other possibility is there?”

Hermione shrugged, ready to move to a different topic. When Pansy was caught up in another conversation, Hermione allowed herself a few moments to think. She couldn’t believe the fault lay with Draco either, but she wondered how two people who loved each other couldn’t work through a rough spot.

Anxious to stop thinking about Draco in such an intimate way, Hermione threw herself into the nearest conversation.

After dessert had been served and consumed, Draco addressed his guests. “Thank you all for coming and celebrating with me. I didn’t even really mind having to open a gift.” He gaze Astoria a smile and turned back to his guests.

“I’m twenty-seven today, and it is my wish that in another twenty-seven years, I’ll be sitting around another table like this with all of you.” On the last word, his gaze fell briefly on Hermione, and she smiled.

“You are all welcome to stay as long as you like. Eat, drink whatever you’d like, close the place down, it’s all on my tab. However, I must be off, as I’ve an early day tomorrow.” He finished his glass of wine, held his arm out for Astoria who was waiting for him, and left the restaurant. 

They’d been gone a few seconds when Hermione realized she didn’t have a way back to England, since she’d come with Draco. She excused herself and rushed after the pair.

She found them outside, walking slowly down the street, and stepped behind a wall so they wouldn’t see her.

Astoria was in the middle of speaking. “—mione looked nice tonight. Don’t you think? That shade of blue was simply beautiful on her.”

Hermione’s heart started pounding.

Draco stopped and looked up at the sky, sighing heavily. “Don’t start this again, please.”

Astoria turned to him. “What? I was merely making an observation.”

He gave her a patient look. “That’s not all you were doing. Don’t pretend otherwise.”

“I can’t help it.” A pained expression flitted across Astoria’s flawless features, and she bowed her head to stare at the ground. “You’re around so many pretty women—”

Draco took her chin in hand and lifted it until his fiancée was meeting his gaze. “Why do we keep having this discussion? I’ve told you that you have nothing to worry about.”

“You say that,” she argued, “but how can I believe you? How can I think you aren’t like every other man I’ve ever known? What makes you so different?”

“Because I choose to be,” he said forcefully. Then his expression softened and he took Astoria’s hands in his. “I will never cheat on you. I swear it. I’ve seen too much of it, seen what it does to people.”

Astoria’s brow was furrowed as she looked up at Draco, but she eventually relaxed, giving him a soft smile. “I … got you something else. For your birthday.”

“Oh?” He quirked an eyebrow, the corner of his lip lifting in amusement. 

“Your mother suggested it, actually.” 

Hermione cringed and started to panic slightly as Astoria pulled a long, thin golden key from her purse. She’d be mortified interrupting them now, but if she didn’t, she’d be stuck in Paris! Surely Pansy would be able to get her back to England somehow ….

“What is that?” Draco asked playfully.

“I got us a hotel room.” Astoria was doing her best to sound seductive, but it was like nails on a chalkboard to Hermione. “In Paris. With an incredible view of the city. I know you said you have to work early tomorrow, but—”

Draco stopped her with a finger to the lips. “Relax, love. I can’t wait.”

Hermione wanted to believe his smile was forced.

Astoria’s answering smile was brilliant. “Then you take the key. Hotel Vernet. I’m going to go ahead and … well. You’ll see.” She winked. “Give me a few minutes.”

Draco smirked and took the key. 

Hermione felt slightly sick to her stomach.

Astoria leaned up and kissed Draco lightly on the lips, then turned and disappeared down a side street. 

As soon as she was gone, Draco shoved his hands in his pockets and started letting out a long, slow breath.

Hermione knew this was her only chance. She hurried around the wall and ran after him. “Draco!”

He spun around, surprised to see her. “Hermione.”

“I’m so glad I caught you! I was afraid you’d be long gone!” she cried, feigning exasperation.

Draco shrugged limply. “You’re in luck. Here I am.”

“After you left the room, I realized you brought me here,” she said, slightly out of breath. “How do I get home?”

“Oh! Of course, how thoughtless of me.” He reached into a pocket and pulled out a stone. “Here. Take my return Portkey. I won’t be needing it. Just tap it with your wand three times and it’ll activate.”

Somehow, she managed to put a smile on her face. “Thank you. Dinner was lovely. And … happy birthday,” she added lamely.

Draco smiled tiredly. “I’m glad you came.”

“Me too. I’ll see you tomorrow.” With a small wave, she turned back toward the restaurant, her thoughts and emotions a massively confused whirl. She hated knowing where he was going next, what he would be doing. But knowing it would probably be a dissatisfactory experience gave her some small satisfaction.


	9. CHAPTER EIGHT

**CHAPTER EIGHT**

The next week, on Wednesday at approximately four in the afternoon, Draco jumped out of his chair causing it to clatter to the floor. 

Hermione looked up from her work—the sixth potion she was analyzing—to see him staring down at the table in disbelief.

“Draco?”

“I … I think I’ve got it,” he breathed.

“You broke the code?” she asked, incredulous.

He nodded slowly, sitting back down and hunching over his work.

Hermione knew he’d been close for a long time. During the time when they weren’t speaking to each other, Draco successfully translated one of the instruction pages, but his key didn’t allow for the other page to be successfully translated.

In the meantime, Hermione had continued to analyze the vials. The more he had to work with, the better. She’d completed another two potions since the initial three and was nearly finished with a sixth. She’d split her time between analyzing potions and helping Draco talk through what he was doing. 

She walked to his table and sat down beside him. “Show me.”

“I’m still not entirely sure …. Here, try something for me.” He started furiously copying his key onto a blank sheet of parchment. When he’d finished, he handed it to her. “Try to translate the instructions for the potion you’re working on.”

Hermione took the parchment back to her desk. It took her nearly half an hour—there were so many special cases in the runes—but when she finished, she was left with a perfectly readable and understandable potion recipe. 

“It worked!” she cried, checking the four ingredients she’d already identified against what was written. They matched completely. 

“Yeah?” Draco bounded over, excitement pouring off him in waves. “Let’s see.” He briefly went over her translation.

“These four items—” She pointed to each one in turn. “—I’ve identified, and according to the code, I got them all right. The directions are clear.”

He nodded and looked at her, his eyes shining. “I think I’m nearly ready to submit this.”

“That’s fantastic!” she exclaimed, fighting the natural inclination to hug him. 

Draco glanced back at his table. “I’d like to get a few things fully translated before submitting. Just in case I’ve missed something or there’s a rune I haven’t seen yet.”

“That makes sense,” she replied. “If you’d like, I can work on the potions book. Since there’s no need for me to keep analyzing the vials.”

“I would like that, yes,” he said. “Thank you.”

Hermione smiled and retrieved the large text that contained the potions. “It’s nothing.”

She sat at the end of her table because most of the surface was covered with potions tools. But after getting up five times in nearly as many minutes to ask Draco a question, she moved to sit at his table, a few feet away from him.

This went on for over a week. They sat side by side, translating from morning until sometimes quite late at night. Hermione always wondered, when the windows darkened and they had to turn up the lights, how Astoria felt about her fiancé working so much. Even though Hermione worked almost as much as he did, she didn’t think she would like _her_ man being away so much.

If she ever got serious with anyone, she would have to seriously look at her priorities and probably shift a few around. It simply wasn’t fair to the other party. She hoped she would find someone she enjoyed spending time with as much as she did with Draco.

They ate all their meals together, usually going out for a late lunch. After sitting in one room, doing one task for hours, they always appreciated the break and the fresh air. Dinner was usually ordered in with one of them meeting the delivery person in the lobby. Again, the walk was nice, and they took turns with this task.

Needless to say, Hermione was more smitten with him than ever before and simply couldn’t find the strength to walk away. Yet his wedding loomed ever closer, and as the days drew on, a weight that had settled in Hermione’s heart grew. Their assignment would come to an end, and he would marry. Nothing would be the same after that. 

A couple of times, a stray thought had occurred to her, and she’d considered telling him how she felt. His behavior was at best confusing, and sometimes she wondered if maybe, just maybe, he might feel a fraction of what she felt. But then, he was Draco Malfoy. If he wanted something, he was going to get it, and nothing would stop him. 

So if he wanted her, he wouldn’t hesitate to make it known. Merlin knew there had been countless chances over the months since they first started working together, more so in the last week or two. Whatever signals she thought she was getting couldn’t be right.

Finally, six full workdays after Draco cracked the code, Hermione finished the potions book. She closed it with a victorious thud.

“Done!”

Draco rubbed his eyes and smiled tiredly. “Nice job.”

“Draco, you need to go home. It’s … nearly eleven!” she gasped, surprised how quickly the time had flown.

“Is it?” He squinted to read the clock on the wall. “No wonder I’m practically falling asleep on the table.”

“Go on,” she insisted. “This will keep until tomorrow. Astoria’s probably out of her mind waiting for you.”

He frowned. “Why would she be?”

Hermione started, not sure what to think of his question or if she was imagining the rosy tint that had crept into his pale cheeks. “Why … wouldn’t she be? She’s waiting for you, right?”

“I should think not. She should be at home, tucked into her bed, dreaming about … I don’t know. Whatever she dreams about.” He yawned again.

“So she doesn’t wait up for you to get home,” Hermione attempted to clarify. Why she wanted to know this so badly was beyond her—probably because of his strange reaction.

“She lives with her parents still,” he told her. “As do I.”

“Oh.” So Astoria probably didn’t even know how much he worked! She was in for a harsh surprise.

Draco sighed and stood. “You’re right though. I need sleep. I’ll see you tomorrow.” With heavy movements, he collected his things and headed out, bumping slightly into the doorjamb. 

Hermione caught up with him after a few minutes. “I’m leaving too, and I need to make sure you get to the lobby all right.”

He smiled sleepily. “You’re a good friend.”

Her heart sank, felled by a poisoned arrow at the use of the f-word. She sent him on his way through the Floo, then Apparated home. 

****

ooo

The next morning, Draco told Hermione he was going to finish one last page and then submit their work to Chamberlain.

“I think you should come with me,” he said as they worked to organize the information. “After all, it’s because of you that I was able to do this. You deserve the recognition.”

Hermione smiled. “Thank you. I just assumed you would tell him about my role in your work.”

“Of course,” Draco rushed. “But why not tell him yourself?”

Together they made their way to Chamberlain’s office and, once they were admitted, told their story. Draco did most of the talking, but he let Hermione describe her role in as much detail as she wanted. Which was a lot, because she got so excited at relaying her findings and procedures. 

When they’d finished, nearly an hour had passed. Chamberlain had seen Hermione’s translated potions book and numerous other documents translated by Draco. He sat quietly, pensively, for a few long moments.

“What is the next phase?” he asked.

Draco spoke. “For my part, there are still boxes of books and manuscripts written in this language. They need to be translated as well.”

Chamberlain turned to Hermione. “And you?”

“There are still a few potions whose recipes we haven’t found yet. I could analyze those,” she began. “In the book I translated, however, there are pages and pages of potions to be studied. I suspect that most of them are already known to us, at least by their results, but until they’re examined closely, we won’t know. And I’m anxious to study the potions no one has ever heard of.”

“Excellent work,” Chamberlain said gruffly. “Really good. Granger. We’ll leave the remaining potions for now. You can take this book and get working on it.”

She beamed; she’d hoped that would be his decision.

“Malfoy,” the Director continued, “there’s no need for you to translate everything by yourself. I’ll have a team formed within the hour, and you will head that team. Anything you need will be at your disposal. You’ll work in room forty-seven.”

“What about me, sir?” Hermione asked. “I’ve got my things spread all over one of the tables in there.”

The older man nodded once. “You’ll be given a new place to work in the same wing where you were. We aren’t ready for this to be leaked into the Department at large just yet.” He took a folder out of a desk drawer and skimmed through the pages. “Here we go. Let’s see … room fifteen is available. You can move your things over there.”

“Thank you,” she said. 

“You two have truly done spectacular work,” Chamberlain remarked. “I’ll be writing letters of commendation for both of you, and your superiors will be notified. You are not the first team to submit work, but by far you’ve produced the highest quality and quantity. Thank you.”

Effectively dismissed, Draco and Hermione thanked him and left the room. Once in the hallway, Hermione let out an excited shout. “Incredible!”

Draco grinned. “Well done, Granger.”

“You too, Malfoy.”

“I’ll help you move your stuff,” he offered. 

“Oh. Right. Thanks.”

As they walked back to the special wing, Hermione was hit with the realization that this was the end. She and Draco would no longer be working together after today. She wasn’t prepared for the onslaught of emotions that bombarded her heart and mind, and she struggled not to let Draco see.

It took only a few minutes to move all of her potions equipment down the hall, thanks to magic. Draco set the last object on her table and turned to her. 

“Well, it was a pleasure working with you,” he said with a smile.

“And you as well,” she returned, a lump in her throat. _Tell him, tell him!_ Something inside her implored her to tell him how she felt, but the timing was awful, and she hadn’t even decided if she would—much less could—tell him. 

Now they would part; he’d return to his work, and she’d start a new project. They would never have occasion to speak, and she probably wouldn’t see him until his wedding—and she doubted very much she would be attending.

“Hey, don’t look like that,” Draco soothed, taking a step toward her. “This isn’t goodbye; it’s just … see you later.”

“I know.” She nodded repeatedly, trying to keep the tears at bay.

“Let’s have coffee next week,” he suggested. “Or lunch.”

“Sure.” She forced a smile. “That sounds great.”

“Good. And I’m just down the hall if you need anything.” He moved toward the door. When his hand was on the knob, he stopped. “Hermione?”

“Yes?” she sniffed, cursing the fact that her mourning would be delayed a few more seconds.

“I ….” He turned to her, his expression anxious and torn. “I think you’re an incredible woman. I will truly miss working with you so closely.”

She swallowed hard. “Thank you,” she whispered.

Draco straightened and walked out without another word.

****

ooo

Hermione saw him a total of three times over the next four days. Granted, two of those days were the weekend, but she still felt the hole inside her left by his presence. She’d often step outside of her room, hoping to catch a glimpse of him in the hall, but only did on those three occasions. He was probably quite busy with his assignment.

She worked half-heartedly on hers, struggling to find the same enthusiasm she’d felt when working with Draco. 

Simply put, she missed him. And she would continue to miss him until she could convince her heart that loving him was impossible and fruitless and futile. 

Love him, she did, and she felt it more acutely when he wasn’t around. His absence made her realize what a huge piece of her heart she’d given him because she felt broken without it. She told herself over and over that it was just a phase, that she’d get over this and over him, but it was far too soon to start trying.

Sometimes she would imagine walking down to his room, throwing open the door, and running into his arms. He would welcome her and kiss her eagerly, unconcerned for the others in the room. Every now and then in her musings, those other people would disappear, and his kisses would become more fervent, more desperate, and soon they’d make good use of the very flat, very long table surface.

Other times, he’d be the one coming to her, confessing that he couldn’t possibly marry another woman when he was so in love with her. Then he’d pull her into his arms and kiss her breathless, and then …. Well. She had a nice, long table too.

She felt ridiculous, daydreaming about him like a bloody teenager, but she longed for his touch, yearned for his lips on hers, hungered for his hands all over her body. More than that, even, she wanted light, feathery kisses on her forehead, his fingers entwined with hers, his smile meant only for her. She wanted to fall asleep every night in his arms as he hummed sweet melodies with his lovely voice.

When someone knocked sharply on the door on Wednesday morning, she jumped, and her heart started pounding. For the briefest of moments, she knew it was Draco, but then she scolded herself. That was impossible.

“Come in,” she said, collecting herself.

Reginald Timmons entered with a pleasant smile, peering around the room. “So this is where they’ve stuck you, is it?”

“It is,” she confirmed, gesturing around her small workspace. “At least I have a big window.”

“Indeed. That is nice. And how is your work going down here?” he asked, Conjuring a chair and sitting in it.

Hermione took her seat. “It’s been a bit slow the last few days, but I’m really enjoying it.”

“That’s good, that’s good,” Timmons muttered. “Well, Hermione, I’ve just come from a meeting with Director Chamberlain, and he had very good things to say about you.”

“Oh? I’m glad.” Hermione smiled. “He seemed satisfied when I saw him last week.”

“He was. He is,” Timmons corrected. “He said your work was excellent and he was pleased that you and Mr. Malfoy were able to work together so well.”

She said nothing.

Timmons continued. “As you know, I’m due for retirement in a couple of weeks.”

Hermione gasped. “Oh, sir! I’d completely forgotten, I’ve been so caught up with this project—”

“There’s no need to apologize,” he interrupted kindly. “It’s time I left this place. I want to spend the prime of my life with my wife.” His eyes shone as he spoke. “She has a trip around the world planned out for us. Much like I’d imagine you would do.”

“Oh, Sir! I’ll be so sad to see you go,” she lamented.

“Don’t be,” he encouraged. “I’ve probably been here far longer than I should have been. I suppose I’ve stuck around this long because I hadn’t come across someone I felt would be a suitable replacement.” Now he looked at her pointedly. “The purpose of my meeting with Chamberlain was to discuss my replacement.”

Hermione waited patiently, a drop of dread cropping up at having to get used to a new boss. 

“He agreed with my recommendation, and if you’re agreeable, I’m happy to inform you that in two weeks, you will be the new Director for Experimental Potions.”

She stared at him for an instant, too stunned to move or speak. Then she let out a breath. “Me?”

Timmons chuckled sagely. “Are you interested in the position?”

Just like that, her brain starting processing again, now at light speed. “You’re serious?”

“I am. You are by far the most capable candidate for the position. Not only are you intelligent, but you’ve an admirable work ethic, you’re freakishly organized, and you’re got a knack for figuring things out.” He paused. “I was a bit concerned about your abilities on thinking outside of the given parameters. With this last assignment, however, you’ve put my mind at ease.”

“I don’t know what to say!” 

“Are you interested?” Timmons repeated.

“I am, absolutely.” She bit her lip. “Are you certain I’m qualified?”

“There are many people in this Department, even Experimental Potions, who have been here longer than you or have more experience than you. Sometimes both,” Timmons stated without apology. “But you have the passion that they all lack, the desire to do this job and do it well. Every time. You are the kind of person I’d like to see take charge of this lab.”

Hermione didn’t know what to say. Never in her wildest dreams had she imagined being the head of her division, to say nothing of achieving the position before she turned thirty. She was so surprised, flattered, and astonished that she couldn’t form a single word for nearly half a minute.

“I realize this is slightly overwhelming,” Timmons remarked. “But I know you’ll handle it with grace and style. When you finish showing the rest of the Department what you’re capable of, I think you’ll feel better about accepting the position.”

“This is such an honor,” she said, the first pings of reality starting to break through the haze in her mind. “I am very interested.”

Timmons smiled warmly. “Well, I know you’ll make me proud. “The change will go into effect two weeks from this coming Monday. We’ll be making an official announcement by the end of the week.”

Hermione still wasn’t quite sure how to form words into coherent sentences. “Thank you, sir. Thank you!”

“You are most welcome and most deserving. Now, I will leave you to your work, then.” He opened the door and called to her once he’d passed through. “See you soon.” 

She stood rooted in place for at least a minute, unable to completely absorb what had just happened. In the space of five minutes, she’d gone from despair over Draco to elation over her boss’s announcement. She—Hermione Granger, Muggle-born witch—had been given a division head position at the age of twenty-seven. It was almost too much to comprehend.

Draco! He was just down the hall, and she simply had to tell someone or she might burst!

Hermione practically ran to his room and opened the door. Sitting at the tables where she and Draco had spent so many days were nine wizards and witches, bent over parchment, the scratching of their quills the only sound. 

Draco was in the back row, and he looked up when the door opened. He was clearly surprised to see her and gave her a slight wave.

She motioned for him to join her in the hall.

“What is it?” he asked, shutting the door behind him.

“You’ll never guess what just happened!” she cried, her face hurting because she was smiling so big. 

“Tell me,” he insisted, folding her arms.

“My boss in Experimental Potions is retiring and I got his job! Me!” Somehow, her grin grew. 

Draco’s eyes widened and he dropped his arms. “You what? You—Hermione, that’s fantastic!”

“Isn’t it? He told me a few months ago that he was retiring, but I never expected to be considered for the position, let alone get it!” She was rambling now, her hands flying in every direction as she rushed to get out everything in her head. “There are so many more qualified people, and I’m so young, and a woman, and Muggle-born at that. I still don’t really see how all of this happened. I’ve been so busy with this project that I didn’t even realize—

He grabbed her shoulders and shook her gently, smiling softly. “Hermione.”

“Yes?” Merlin, she’d missed gazing into his silvery eyes and staring at his exquisite lips. 

“Congratulations. Don’t think about it. Just enjoy it. All right?” He released her shoulders and slid his hands into his pockets.

“You’re right. Absolutely.” She nodded furtively. “I need to tell Harry.”

His countenance darkened for an instant, then it was gone. If she’d blinked, she’d have missed it. “Right. Potter.”

She smiled at him, the surreal aura she’d been feeling since Timmons had given her the news still making everything a little hazy. “I was so excited I just had to tell you. Now I have to see Harry. I’ll talk to you later!”

Hermione was three doors down when she heard his response. 

“Later.”

****

ooo

When she’d told Harry, after barging into his office without knocking, he had jumped out of his chair, grabbed her, and twirled her around. After exclaiming about how incredible her news was, how brilliant she was, how proud he was, he’d suggested they celebrate that night. Hermione had heartily agreed.

As she neared the Leaky Cauldron, she wondered what to expect. Harry had told her not to worry about a thing, that he would take care of everything. She’d worn her favorite party dress and pumps, done something with her hair, and even applied a little make-up. She felt pretty.

The pub was dimly lit, as it usually was for dinner. Hermione squinted to try and find her friends, then saw Ron waving hysterically at her.

Her heart did a spirited gymnastic maneuver when she saw Draco sitting at the table—without Astoria. Around the table sat Ron, Harry, Luna, Draco, Blaise, Ginny, and Pansy, in that order.

She took the only empty seat between Pansy and Ron. “Hey!”

They greeted her all at once, and she laughed, unable to discern a single word. Then Ron threw an arm around her and hugged her to him. 

“Blimey, Hermione,” he said exuberantly. “I’m so proud I could kiss you. Not on the lips mind you, maybe just on the cheek. Or your head.”

Everyone laughed, and Pansy rolled her eyes.

“That’s quite all right, Ron,” she replied, shrugging out of his embrace. “I’ll settle for the hug.”

She glanced at Draco, relieved to find him relaxed. At least he had Blaise and Pansy there so he wouldn’t feel too out of place. 

Dinner flew by, and the drinks kept coming. The noise level in the pub grew, and the conversation at their table turned sillier and sillier until Ron slapped a hand on the table and declared, “Let’s play ‘I Never.’”

Hermione groaned, as did a few others. Harry agreed whole-heartedly though, and Draco looked amused.

“What do you say, Hermione?” Ron asked. “It’s your night. You’re not sloshed enough, and this is a great way to get you there.”

“Why must we play such an adolescent game?” she asked.

“This is Ron,” Pansy remarked. She turned to Blaise. “My husband reverts to his teen years when he’s drunk. I’m sorry you have to see this.”

Blaise merely shrugged.

Harry banged his mug on the table. “Here, here! Let’s play.”

“I’ll start,” said Ron, “and we’ll go around the table. Whoever makes the never statement drinks last. Hermione can have time to think about hers, since she’s the birthday girl.”

“It’s not her birthday,” Ginny corrected.

“Whatever.” Ron refilled everyone’s drinks, then grinned. “Let’s start out with an easy one, shall we? I’ve never been shagged.”

Hermione took a deep breath and drank, as did everyone else.

“Nice way to start,” Ron said, clapping his friend on the back. “Harry, mate?”

Harry grinned stupidly, and Hermione knew he was already half-smashed. “I’ve never had sex with a woman.” 

All the men drank, as did Luna.

“What?” she said when everyone gaped at her. “I was twenty. All right, my turn. I’ve never had sex with a man.”

The women drank, and then Pansy stared hard at Draco.

“What?” he asked.

“Aren’t you going to … you know …?” She made a drinking motion.

His face contorted in revulsion. “What? No! Pansy! Are you serious?”

“I just thought … never mind. Sorry. Your turn.” She winked at Hermione.

Draco shuddered, still glaring at Pansy. After a moment, he shook his head. “I’ve never … had sex on a table.”

Hermione was grateful that the pub was too dim for anyone to see her cheeks burn. Her recent fantasies about Draco had very often involved a table, and she worried for a moment that he somehow knew about them. But that was impossible.

Blaise and Ginny drank together, clinking their glasses. Ron gaped in horror at his sister. Pansy drank, Hermione didn’t, then Ron did. Harry didn’t, and Luna, and Draco did.

“I don’t think I should be playing this with my sister,” Ron grumbled, glaring at Blaise. 

By the time it got to Hermione, everyone’s statements had revolved around sex, and most people had taken a drink each time. Ron was ready to lunge for Blaise’s throat, and Luna was staring off into space. 

“Let’s do something different,” Hermione said. “I’ve never been to Italy.”

“Boo!” said Harry. “That’s boring. Who cares if you’ve been to Italy?”

“What about, ‘I’ve never been shagged in Italy?’” Ron suggested, drinking despite the rules of the game.

Hermione drew herself up in her chair. “No. I don’t care that you think my line is boring, it’s what I said. And it’s _my_ night. Now drink or don’t.”

Draco, Blaise, and Pansy all drank, then Hermione did too.

“What was your favorite part of Italy?” Blaise asked. 

“I have to pick just one?” She smiled.

“Moving on,” Ron exclaimed loudly. “I’ve never run naked though a Quidditch pitch.”

Draco drank, as did Blaise, then Ron. Hermione rolled her eyes. _Boys_.

The game continued another two rounds, and by the time it was Hermione’s third turn, everyone was pretty well sloshed—except Pansy, of course, who was drinking butter beer. Hermione was deliciously buzzed, and she kept staring at Draco when he laughed, when he drank, when he smiled. She was starting to feel funny, as though she were floating in herself, and the strangest ideas kept popping into her head.

She’d been thinking about telling him the truth, if only to make it easier for her to move on, and that thought kept bounding through her mind, echoing off her skull. He was getting married in exactly one month, and if she didn’t tell him now, she never would. 

“Your turn,” Pansy said, nudging Hermione with her elbow.

A tiny voice in the back of her mind tried to warn her, shouted that she should at least wait until she wasn’t drunk, until they weren’t surrounded by their closest friends. It wasn’t the kind of revelation that should be showcased for all to see and hear.

Unfortunately for Hermione, that voice was lost in the deluge of other voices, all proclaiming what a perfect moment this was. That it was a great idea.

Hermione blinked, took a deep breath, and shakily lifted her glass. She stared at the amber liquid, unable to look at anyone, especially him. “I’ve never fallen in love with someone else’s man.” Without waiting for the others, she polished off what was left in her glass.

Ron chuckled. “What am I supposed to do with that?”

Pansy gaped at her, eyes wide.

Hermione bit her lip, then looked up at Draco—her friend, the man she’d come to admire more than any other. He was staring at her hard, his brow furrowed. 

It didn’t take long before everyone at the table felt the strange tension, and they stopped talking. Draco was still staring at her, his face entirely blank.

“I-I’m sorry, Draco,” Hermione began.

Pansy gasped and her hand flew over her mouth.

“I lied again. I don’t think I can be friends with you. Not when I wish it was me.”

He said nothing as he gaped at her, only blinked a few times. 

Then she heard a rushing sound in her mind and in her ears. It grew in pitch until it exploded, leaving her with only the sound of her words shattering in her head. Draco was staring at her as though he had never seen her before, and the reality of what she’d done smacked her in the face. And she felt quite sick to her stomach.

It appeared that no one wanted to be the first to break the eerie, unprecedented silence, so Hermione picked up the pieces of her pride and said, “And … I really shouldn’t drink so much—why did no one stop me? I thought we were friends. I hope you all enjoy the rest of your evening.” 

Without waiting for a response—though she didn’t really expect one—Hermione grabbed her purse and walked as fast as she could to the bathroom.

She collapsed on the floor as soon as she was safely hidden in the bathroom, her hands shaking and her vision spotting. Then she threw up in the toilet and was wiping her mouth when Ginny came in.

“Hermione?” the other witch called, tentatively stepping into the women’s loo. 

“I’m here,” she croaked, cringing at the awful taste in her mouth.

Ginny got a wet paper towel, knelt by her side, and pressed the cloth to Hermione’s forehead. They just sat that way for a few minutes.

Then Hermione chuckled. “What did he say?”

“Um, nothing that I heard. There was a lot of silent staring at first, and then I came after you.” Ginny reached over and smoothed Hermione’s hair. “Are you all right?”

Hermione looked at her friend. “So that wasn’t just a horrible, terrible nightmare? I really said that? In front of everyone?” 

“I’m afraid so,” said Ginny, giving Hermione a sympathetic look. “You _did_ think to clean the floor before you sat on it, right?”

Hermione shook her head miserably.

“Well. _Scourgify!_ ” Ginny then joined her on the floor. 

“What in Merlin’s name got in to me?” Hermione groaned, banging her head lightly against the wall. “I don’t know what possessed me; I cannot believe I said it. I mean, I’d been thinking about it, but couldn’t I have picked a better time and place? It feels like a dream; the memory is all fuzzy around the edges ….”

Ginny glanced at Hermione. “So you … you meant it, then.”

She nodded, feeling wretched. “He’s going to hate me!”

“I don’t think he’ll _hate_ you,” Ginny said reassuringly. “I don’t know what kind of relationship you two have, but I’m not sure it’ll ever be the same. At the very least, things will be pretty awkward for a while. You’ll eventually get past this … probably laugh about it one day….”

The door opened, and Pansy entered, concern etched on her face. “Hermione!” she cried upon seeing her on the floor. 

“Join us.” Hermione patted the floor beside her. “Ginny cleaned it.”

Pansy made a face. “I don’t care what kind of spell you used. I’m never sitting on that floor. Oh, Hermione, your pretty dress.”

A sharp laugh escaped her throat. “Yes, I’m so concerned about my dress.”

“Draco’s gone,” Pansy informed them. 

“What did he say?” Hermione moaned, burying her head in her hands.

“Not much. No one really knew what to do. He just … tossed down a handful of coins, muttered something, and bolted.” Pansy shook her head. “Talk about instant Sober-Up. That table was dead as a ghost town. Of course, I’ve been sober all night, subsisting on butterbeer and mineral water.”

Ginny sighed. “Hermione, I don’t think anyone out there had any idea you felt that way, least of all him. Just give him some time.”

“Do you really love him?” Pansy asked quietly.

“I really do,” Hermione groaned.

Pansy shook her head. “How did this happen? How did I not see it? You two have only been friends for … what, three months?”

“They did work together rather a lot,” Ginny pointed out. “Sometimes it’s just right, and time is irrelevant. You feel like you’ve known that person forever, that he knows you inside-out, better than you know yourself.”

“Who are you talking about?” Pansy inquired, amused. “Certainly not Blaise.”

Ginny blushed and looked at the floor. “No. Harry. Sometimes.”

“Aw, Ginny.” Hermione squeezed the other woman’s hand.

“We were together a long time; he was my best friend for years. I know I was the one who ended it, but part of me wishes we’d worked. Somehow. I don’t know.” She laughed to herself. “Enough about me, this is about Hermione.”

“I know that love can strike quickly and at unwelcome times,” Pansy continued, pacing by the door. “But this … I didn’t see it coming.”

“You’ve been so focused on Astoria,” Ginny remarked. “You wanted Draco to find someone else, but you didn’t spare a thought about someone finding him.”

“I like you _so_ much better than Astoria,” Pansy whined. 

Hermione forced a laugh. “Thanks. And … there’s something you don’t know about all of this. It wasn’t quite as sudden as it seems.”

Pansy’s eyes widened and, just then, the bathroom door opened. She whirled around, pushed the woman out, and locked the door with a complex series of spells. “This room’s full!” she shouted.

Ginny giggled. “Nice job. Now, what don’t we know?”

Hermione finally felt ready to tell this story. Better that it all come out now so she could avoid more unpleasantness in the future. “Five years ago, at your wedding, Pansy. In the weeks leading up to it, Draco and I … were friendly. I just mean we talked, laughed, made fun of you.” 

Pansy glared.

“There was also some harmless flirting, but … I sort of … fell for him then.” She took a quick breath and plunged forward. “It was nothing like this, but if he’d asked me to dinner, I’d have said yes.”

“You’re lying.” Pansy stomped her foot. 

Hermione smiled sadly. “I wish I was. But wait. The night of your wedding, we had a bit to drink, we danced, and then we slipped out and went to a pub down the street, where we did some more drinking. He kissed me … I let him ….” She trailed off, hoping the other women could fill in the blanks.

Pansy was staring at her open-mouthed in shock. “You slept with him?” she nearly whispered.

“Yes,” Hermione admitted, dropping her head in her hands again.

“Wow,” breathed Ginny.

Hermione peeked up at Pansy to see her opening and closing her mouth like a fish, no sound coming out. Then Pansy crossed to where she and Ginny were sitting and knelt down in front of Hermione.

“You slept with him. Five years ago. On my wedding night,” Pansy stamped out. 

“Yes.”

“Merlin’s beard. That’s … incredible! I had no idea! He never let on …. What happened though?” she asked, suddenly concerned. “If you liked him, what happened next?”

“This is why I didn’t tell anyone. And by that, I mean no one knows. Except him, of course.” Hermione pushed a mass of hair out of her face. “So we slept together, and I stayed with him that night. But when I woke up, he was gone. Completely cleared out, not a trace of him left.”

Pansy gasped. “No! Draco? That’s terrible!”

Hermione nodded miserably. “It’s true. I was humiliated and ashamed, and I felt so used. I left as soon as I could grab my things.”

Ginny scowled. “Lousy git.”

“That really doesn’t sound like Draco, though,” Pansy observed. “I’m surprised he did that.”

“Well, he did.” Hermione shrugged. “I certainly haven’t stopped to ask him why.”

“So you two had history,” Ginny commented. “Bad history. And yet, you fell for him? Again?”

Tears welled in Hermione’s eyes, and she cursed them. “I know. You’d think I’d have learned my lesson the first time. I kept telling myself over and over not to let myself care about him, but when we were forced to interact, it just came so easily, so naturally, _despite_ what happened in the past. I didn’t notice when it happened—I still don’t know when it happened. It just … did, and it really sucks.”

Ginny put her arm around Hermione and pulled her close. Hermione refused to let a single tear fall, because if she did, she wasn’t sure they’d ever stop. 

“I know you feel terrible right now,” said Pansy kindly, “but I bet you’ll feel better really soon.”

“You sound like a greeting card you can buy for half a pound.”

Ginny reached over and rubbed Hermione’s back. “Well, it’s out there now. Nowhere to go but up.”

“He’s getting married,” Hermione pouted, resting her head on Ginny’s shoulder.

“I know, Hermione.” Pansy smiled sympathetically.

“I wish he wasn’t marrying her.”

Pansy sighed. “Listen, Hermione. I’m telling you this because you’re my friend. Draco is marrying Astoria for a lot of reasons. Love is only part of it. The rest is messy: family pressure, duty, honor, money. Even if he didn’t love her, he might still marry her. It’s rotten, it’s unfair, but it’s life for him. I-I just don’t want you to get your hopes up.”

Hermione snorted. “Trust me, my hopes have never been this low.”

Ginny nudged her. “Listen, Hermione. No matter what happens, you did an incredible thing. No one I know has ever announced his or her feelings so grandly, so publicly, so—”

“Without any hope of hearing them returned.” Hermione lifted her head off Ginny’s shoulder. “Life will go on. I’ll just be miserable for a little while.” 

They sat in silence for a few minutes. Then Pansy said, “Why don’t we get you home?”

“No, I’ll just Apparate from here,” Hermione sniffed, the tears welling and the dam threatening to burst. “Thanks. I mean it.”

She stood with help from Pansy and Ginny, then hugged each of her friends. “You guys are the best.”

“We’ll check in on you,” Ginny promised. 

“And I’ll talk to Draco,” Pansy offered.

Hermione gave her a warning look. “Not for me. I don’t want to hear a word.”

“Right … well, good night, Hermione.” Pansy hugged her again, then unlocked the bathroom door.

“Floo if you need anything,” said Ginny. “Harry too. I’m sure he’s worried about you.”

Hermione nodded and waited until they’d left before Disapparating.


	10. CHAPTER NINE

**CHAPTER NINE**

Somehow, Hermione forced herself to get out of bed and go to work the next day. Her plan was simple: avoid Draco and everything to do with him at all costs. The last thing she wanted to do was bump into him in the hallway or be stuck on the lift with him. 

She had no idea what to expect if something like that happened. All she knew was that she simply couldn’t handle being around him so soon after the Incident.

The rest of the week went precisely according to plan. She got in, did her work like there was a test on everything the next day, and got out. Lunch was eaten in her room; she made sure to pack enough food to last her the entire day and into the evening if necessary.

Friday afternoon, however, she was required to come out of hiding in order to be present for the official announcement of her promotion. She spent the entire day in the Experimental Potions lab, grateful for a place she could feel safe from bumping into Draco. 

By the time the announcement was made, she was able to laugh and smile with her co-workers. She’d even stopped glancing at the door every other second. 

The weekend was spent in her flat. She simply couldn’t risk going out and seeing him, despite the chances being rare. She’d never seen him on any previous weekends, but with her luck, this would be the one she did. There was no point in risking it.

On Monday, Harry stopped by the Department of Mysteries and persuaded Hermione to have lunch with him.

“You’ve been hiding from him,” he observed once they’d eaten and talked about important nothings. 

“Can you blame me?” she asked.

“I suppose not, but that means you’re hiding from us, too.” Harry gave her a lopsided grin. “We promise not to invite him anywhere with us ever again. You’re safe with us.”

“But what if we bump into him?” she protested. “I can’t see him or talk to him right now. I don’t know if I ever want to see him again if I don’t have to.”

“You don’t mean that,” Harry chided.

“I most certainly do!” she replied. “Why would I want to see him after he’s married? That would be self-inflicted torture.”

Harry futilely patted down the top of his hair. “Good point. Merlin, Hermione, I’m sorry.”

She shook her head. “Don’t be. It’s my own fault. I knew he was engaged before we were assigned to work together and I let myself fall for him.”

“You can’t blame yourself for how you feel,” Harry said gently. “There are days I wake up and forget I’m not with Ginny.”

Hermione considered mentioning what Ginny had said to her the night of the confession, but decided it was none of her business. If they ever wanted to reconcile, they would. Perhaps one of them needed only to get engaged.

“I heard about the announcement.” Harry remarked. 

She was relieved for the change of subject. “Yes! It was nicely done. So far, everyone has been very supportive. I’m sure there are dissenters out there, but hopefully, once news of the recent big project, and the work Draco and I did, reaches them, they’ll ease off. And speaking of work, I need to get back. My boss wants to start transitioning me into his position this afternoon.”

“Sure.” Harry counted out his portion of the check and tossed it on the table. “I’m ready to go.”

He walked with her all the way to the door of the Department of Mysteries. Hermione hadn’t asked him to, but she was very relieved. If they encountered Draco, she would have a buffer.

Once inside the Department, Hermione returned to the Experimental Potions Lab and knocked on Timmons’ door.

“Come in,” he called. Then he motioned to the chair across his desk. “Have a seat.”

“Thank you.” She sat.

“How do you feel about everything?” Timmons asked, folding his hands. “Are you overwhelmed?”

“A little,” she admitted. “Though I don’t think I know enough about what I’m going to be doing to be properly overwhelmed. I also worry that I’m not the best person for the job.”

Timmons nodded once. “It’s natural and wise for you to feel that way. Now let me ask you something. If you took control of the Division today, what would be your first act?”

Hermione considered the question carefully, despite the answer that came quickly to mind. “Honestly, sir, I would bring the other three employees in this Division up to speed on the project I’ve been working on for the last few months. There are dozens of potions to investigate, and as much as I love the work, I’m now stuck in a small room by myself doing it all. I’d rather work with someone, even if all that means is being in the same room.”

“I see,” Timmons responded. 

She continued. “I know that eventually, the rest of the Department—and the wizarding world at large—will learn of the discovery of the castle. I see no reason why I couldn’t bring my co-workers in a bit early. We would all benefit from collaboration as well, being able to discuss ideas, theories, and findings.”

Timmons regarded her thoughtfully for a few moments. “I think that’s an excellent idea. Why don’t you write up a proposal, and we’ll present it to Chamberlain in a few hours.”

“All right,” she agreed excitedly.

“Because—and this is important, Hermione—this is not the kind of decision you can make on your own. For the most part, what you do in this lab is left to your discretion, but when you’re working on an interdivisional assignment, you _must_ get approval from the head of the project before you do anything outside of your instructions.”

Hermione readily agreed. “I understand.”

“Good. I will see when Chamberlain is free, and you work on that proposal.” Timmons flipped open a calendar. “I will let you know what I learn.”

Hermione agreed again and left the room, her thoughts already whirring about the phrasing and structure of her proposal.

Chamberlain agreed to see them at three that afternoon. Hermione merely repeated what she’d said to Timmons and expounded on it, citing references for the benefits of collaboration and her own experience working with Draco. 

As soon as she finished, the Director granted her proposal. “I think Timmons made an excellent choice in you, Ms. Granger. Good luck.”

****

ooo

The next morning, Hermione met with her co-workers and explained the project to them. She’d spent the entire evening and much of the night before preparing what she would say. She summarized what had been done and detailed what remained.

The other three employees seemed eager to start work, so Hermione had everything moved to the Experimental Potions lab before lunch. Then she supervised all of them working through a single potion, dissecting it, trying to anticipate its effects, and them administering it to one of the hundred or so rats she’d been using to test the potions on.

So far, none of the potions had proved fatal or even harmful. If she suspected that one of the potions might be harmful to the rat, she refused to test it, setting it aside for further analysis. 

Many of the potions discovered in the castle were similar to potions in present use but with different ingredients. Hermione had been intrigued to learn that there was more than one way to achieve an end result through potions.

Once they had all successfully worked through a potion, Hermione returned to her own work. She’d instructed her co-workers to take careful notes of everything they did, and after each potion, they were to turn in their notes and the potion to her.

On Wednesday morning, Hermione received a letter from Pansy asking if she was free for lunch. Even though she had planned to work through lunch that day, Hermione was extremely curious for news of Draco. She just wanted to know that he didn’t hate her, that he could forgive her, and if anyone knew anything, it would be Pansy. 

To be completely honest, Hermione missed Draco. She wanted to hear about how he was doing because no matter how much she wished it was different, she still cared a great deal for him.

Hermione met Pansy in Diagon Alley at a small café. The other witch was already there and greeted Hermione with a smile.

“How’s your day?” Pansy asked brightly.

“Good,” Hermione replied. “Busy. I was surprised to get your note this morning. I think it’s the first time you’ve asked me to lunch … ever.”

The barest hint of color crept into her cheeks. “Well, I’ve just been thinking about you a lot lately. Since last week.” Then her face radiated concern, and she put a hand on Hermione’s. “How are you doing?”

Hermione smiled. “I’m doing fine. Quite well, actually. Work is simply splendid.”

Pansy rolled her eyes. “I’m not asking about _work_ ; you know what I’m referring to.”

“I’m really fine,” she insisted. “I’m a bit … sad, I suppose, but it’s not as though I’d expected anything different.”

“But Hermione—”

“Speaking of Draco,” Hermione interrupted unceremoniously, “have you spoken to him lately? I do wonder how he is, if he hates me … that sort of thing.”

Pansy glared upon being cut off but answered the question. “I haven’t seen him since that night, actually. When I inquired after him at the Manor, I was told that the family had gone to their lake house.”

“They all went to the lake house?” Hermione repeated, incredulous. “I’ve been avoiding him all week for nothing?”

“Apparently.” Pansy snickered, then became serious. “I … I think he took Astoria with him. I haven’t heard from her, either.”

“Oh.” Bugger. That hurt. Not that she could or should be surprised. “Is it unusual that you haven’t seen her?”

Pansy frowned. “Well, not exactly. She’s gone this long without coming over before. Her mother and sister were over the other day though, and it’s rare for her not to be with them. I can’t say that I missed her talk of future plans, all wistful-eyed and sickeningly sweet. She’s just too … bland for him.” Then she seemed to realize what she’d said. “Oh, Hermione. I’m sorry. I can be so thoughtless sometimes!”

“It’s all right.” Hermione sighed. “Do you know when he’ll be back? I’d like to have some warning about when I need to resume peeking around corners and hiding in shadows.”

“I was told they’d be back at the end of this week,” Pansy said. “I don’t know exactly when, but I think it’s safe to say he won’t be back at work until next week.”

Hermione smiled, immensely relieved. “Thank you! That’s excellent news.”

“What are you going to say when you do see him?” Pansy asked, leaning forward slightly.

Hermione shrugged. “I hadn’t planned on speaking to him again.”

Pansy raised an eyebrow. “How are you going to avoid it?”

“It’s not like I see him often,” Hermione explained. “Before we were assigned to the same project, I saw him … once, maybe twice every few months. It won’t be a problem.”

“Oh.” Pansy tapped her fork on her plate, her brow furrowed. “Will you be at the wedding?”

Hermione barked a laugh. “Are you serious? No, I don’t think so.”

“I know you got an invitation,” Pansy pressed. “I heard Draco mention it once.”

“I’m sure it’s rescinded,” Hermione said dismissively. “Why would Draco want me there? Besides, why would I willingly put myself through further torture by watching him declare his love to another woman? No thank you.”

“I need you there,” Pansy whined. “You know how I hate Astoria. I don’t want to watch that either! I’m liable to stand up and protest, and then Draco will hate me forever, not to mention _her_ …. Who will keep me from making a fool of myself if not you?”

“Then don’t go.” Hermione’s tone was firm, unmoving. “Or appoint Ron to keep you in check. I’m not going to the wedding, and there’s nothing you or anyone can say that would make me change my mind. Let’s talk about something else.”

If Hermione had been suspicious about the motive behind Pansy’s lunch invitation, they were somewhat confirmed when Ginny knocked on her door that night with Chinese take-away and a six-pack in tow. 

“What’s going on?” Hermione demanded when Ginny brushed past her and headed for the dining table.

“What do you mean?” Ginny asked, grabbing two plates and placing them on the table. “We haven’t spent much time together lately. I thought I’d pop by.”

Hermione folded her arms over her chest. “Harry I could believe. I mean, he works just a few floors away from me. But then today, Pansy asks me to lunch. She has never done that in the five years she’s been married to Ron. Now you come over? What’s going on?”

Ginny displayed her most innocent look. “I don’t know what you’re implying.”

“You certainly do, Ginny Weasley,” Hermione scolded lightly. “Let me guess—Ron is scheduled for tomorrow.”

Ginny rolled her eyes and took her seat, then pointed to the other chair. “Let’s eat. I think Ron is busy tomorrow.”

Hermione chuckled and slid into the chair. “What do you hope to accomplish?” she asked, taking a bite of her General Tso’s chicken—her favorite.

“We just thought you might appreciate the company,” Ginny said, snootily, her nose in the air. “I suppose we should have known you wouldn’t want or need the distraction. You’re in control of everything. We tend to forget.”

Tears pricked Hermione’s eyes and she smiled. “No, distraction is good. Thank you.”

Ginny peered at her a moment before dropping the act and smiling back. “It’s the least we can do. How many times have you been there for us? When some boy or girl hurt us, dumped us, whatever. Now it’s our chance to return the favor.”

“Thank you,” Hermione repeated.

Ginny rolled her eyes playfully. “Yeah, yeah. Let’s eat.” 

“How are things with Blaise?” Hermione asked.

The red-headed witch frowned slightly. “They’re … all right. He admitted the other day, after that business at the pub, that he’s had a thing for me since Hogwarts. Do you believe that?”

Hermione smiled. “I do, actually. Harry overheard him talking about you on the train sixth year.”

Ginny’s eyes widened. “No! Really? Why didn’t Harry say something?”

“Er, Gin, that’s the year he started to fancy you, remember?” Hermione asked. “I doubt he was eager to tell you about yet another bloke interested in you.”

“Oh. Right.” Ginny sent her food a puzzled look. “Do you think it’s strange? For Blaise to have fancied me for so long, only to finally do something about it?”

Hermione shrugged. “I don’t know Blaise. It might be perfectly like him.”

Ginny nodded. “Well, we’re having fun, if nothing else.”

Hermione chuckled at the memory of Ron’s increasingly red face the night at the pub. “Poor Ron, I think you may have caused permanent brain damage.”

Ginny rolled her eyes. “It’s fine for him, but if I do it, he flips!”

“I think he’d just rather not have to know about it,” Hermione suggested. “You can’t really blame him; you’re the little sister, the one he and all your brothers are supposed to look out for. Since Ron is closest to you in age, he feels most responsible.”

“But I’m twenty-six!” Ginny protested. “Why can’t he just … let go, already?”

“I don’t know.” Hermione sighed. “Just be grateful for a brother who cares.”

Ginny scowled. “I am. Mostly. Except when he embarrasses me like he did that night! Making comments every other minute, glaring at Blaise …. It’s none of his business!”

“Trust me, by the end of the night, no one remembered Ron’s protests.” Hermione chuckled and took a drink. 

“No one but Blaise and I,” Ginny said glumly. “Thanks for that, by the way.”

“Any time.” Hermione winked at her friend, then opened another can of beer. 

Ginny leaned forward, pushing her plate to the side. “How _are_ you doing? Have you seen Draco?”

Hermione shook her head, annoyed that his name had been mentioned. “He hasn’t been at work.”

“Lucky for you.” Ginny smiled. “I can tell you one thing I noticed the other night. Malfoy has a very fine arse.”

“Ginny!” Hermione gasped, then dissolved into laughter. “He does, doesn’t he?”

“I don’t know how you worked so closely without losing it.” Ginny shook her head. “If I’d been you, I’d have hauled him into a broom closet or storage closet a long time ago. Fiancée or not.”

Hermione rolled her eyes. “You would not have done that.”

“According to Ron, who thinks I’m something of a loose woman, I certainly would have.” Ginny finished her second can. “I would have been thinking about it, at the very least.”

“Rest assured, I did plenty of thinking,” Hermione assured her. “Remember, I had history to go with my fantasies.”

Ginny giggled. “That’s right! You’ve had him! Merlin, how have you stood it all these months? Knowing what you could have?”

Sadness suddenly filled Hermione’s heart. “I could never have had him.”

“Oh, Hermione.” Ginny placed her hand on her friend’s. “I’m so sorry. It’s very insensitive of me to talk about him like this when you still feel so strongly for him.”

“It’s all right. Let’s just … talk about something else.” Hermione opened her third can, lamenting the fact that Ginny had only brought six. 

“Sure!” Ginny stood and started clearing the dishes, sending them to the kitchen and into a sink which she filled with water with a flick of her wand. “I thought maybe we could watch a film. Ogle some hot bodies for a couple of hours.”

Hermione smiled slightly. “That sounds great.”

****

ooo

It was not great the next morning, however. Hermione woke with a raging hangover. After polishing off the six-pack, Hermione had dipped into her own supply, brandishing a bottle of wine. They’d finished it just as the film had ended, and Hermione had been very pleasantly sloshed. She’d sent Ginny home through the Floo and collapsed on the sofa.

To make matter worse, she was late for work. It was already half past nine when Hermione groggily looked at a clock.

Frantically, she downed a hangover potion, threw some clothes on, brushed her teeth, and Apparated to the Ministry. Another day of potions analysis lay ahead, and she berated herself for drinking too much the night before.

Timmons wasn’t in his office when she arrived, and none of her co-workers said a word about her tardiness. Hermione went straight to her station and started working, not pausing except for a few minutes to force a sandwich down her throat. She did keep a pot of coffee going, drinking one cup after another to aid the hangover potion.

It wasn’t a miracle cure; she still had a pounding headache, bleary eyes, and felt a bit shaky, but the effects of the alcohol had been neutralized. The coffee did wonders by the time two o’clock rolled around.

When the chime sounded, signaling the end of the day, Hermione was only mildly surprised none of her friends had stopped by to distract her. Hopefully Ginny had told them about their over-drinking the night before and they’d decided to wait.

On Friday, Timmons asked Hermione to report on the team’s work for the week.

“It’s going very well, sir,” she replied. “We’ve successfully analyzed over a dozen potions between us. As we get faster at this, more familiar with what we’re doing, we’ll be finished with the batch of vials in less than three weeks.”

“Excellent!” Timmons beamed. “I think you made a wise decision to bring the others into the project. Chamberlain will be holding a meeting on Monday to discuss the final stages of the Castle Moor project. You won’t be called upon to say anything, but you’ll receive your final instructions.”

“All right,” Hermione said, trying to figure out what the meeting might entail. 

“He’ll be holding it first thing Monday morning, and I suspect you’ll be required to focus on his request for the rest of the day, if not the next few days,” Timmons cautioned. 

“It’s a good thing the Experimental Potions Lab will be able to continue the work I started,” she said with a smile. 

Timmons nodded. “Indeed. Have a good weekend, Hermione.”

She thanked him and returned to her station, glancing at the clock. Only two hours remained until the end of the day, and for once, she was planning on leaving when the chime sounded.


	11. CHAPTER TEN

**CHAPTER TEN**

On Monday morning, Hermione got her co-workers set up for a new week of analyzing potions. When time came for the meeting, Timmons walked with her.

Somehow, the thought of seeing Draco at the meeting had failed to enter Hermione’s thought process. She’d been so focused on avoiding him that she’d managed to force him out of her mind—though only through sheer will.

Upon entering the meeting room, Hermione remained beside her boss instead of seeking out the wall as she had in the past. They stood opposite the door, so she had an unobstructed view of whoever entered and left.

So when Draco walked through the door, his hair freshly cut, dressed in sharp black robes, her breath caught in her throat. For some reason, his eyes darted to her almost instantly.

Hermione glanced away, heart pounding, resolved not to let her gaze stray in his direction for the rest of the meeting. She stared at a spot over Chamberlain’s head until the Director stood and called everyone to order.

“Thank you all for coming,” he began, clasping his hands behind his back. “We are almost four months into this project, and many of you have completed your assigned tasks. Some of you have taken your tasks a step further.”

Chamberlain nodded to Hermione, then to a few others in the room. She didn’t dare see who else he acknowledged, though she fully expected that one of them was Draco. 

“No matter what stage your assignment is in, I would like a report on your progress,” he continued. “One report per team, so you’ll have to get with your original teammates to work out how you want to do the report. I don’t care if one person writes it with contributions from the others or if everyone writes their part. So long as I hear from everyone. Are there any questions before I move on?”

Nobody said anything, and the Director started talking about something else, something that didn’t involve Hermione. She had trouble paying attention as she silently panicked over having to work with Draco again. She’d thought that was behind her. 

By the time the meeting ended, however, she’d already decided to rush back to her lab and send him a memo suggesting he write up his side and send it back to her when he was finished. It would be neat, to the point, and she wouldn’t have to actually speak to him.

Chamberlain dismissed them, and Hermione trailed after her boss, not looking to either side in case she saw Draco again.

Just as they reached the door, however, someone grabbed her arm. Hermione spun around to look at the person, relieved to see Collin holding onto her arm with an amused expression.

“I’ve been calling your name since the meeting ended,” he said, releasing her.

Hermione moved closer and smiled, keeping her eyes locked on her teammate. “Sorry, I was thinking about something.”

He chuckled. “How have you been? I haven’t seen you in weeks.”

“I’ve been fine,” she replied, shrugging. “Very busy with this project. It’s been good.”

“Really?” he asked, surprised. “Still working, huh? Guess there was more to it than I thought.”

Hermione nodded. “The potions are simply fascinating to work with. Many of them are similar to potions we have today but are made with entirely different ingredients. It’s very interesting to see the way their minds worked, to see how they manipulated the potion to achieve the desired end.”

Collin chuckled again and mussed his hair. “If you say so. I’m afraid Potions was never my best subject.”

She blushed; not many people shared her enthusiasm for her work, and she generally refrained from talking about it too much. That was one thing about Draco she knew she would miss. Even though he hadn’t been working on the potions part of the assignment, he’d always listened to her theories and seemed genuinely interested. 

In fact, he was probably the only person with whom she felt she could truly discuss her work without putting him to sleep or his eyes glazing over after just a few minutes. 

Hermione pushed those thoughts away and focused on Collin. “It wasn’t most people’s best subject. All I meant was that I’ve been enjoying the work.”

“Good!” Collin beamed. “So listen, I was hoping to discuss this report we have to work on.”

“All right,” she said easily. There were still quite a few people milling about in and around the conference room, probably doing just what she and Collin were doing. Hermione stood facing the door so that she wouldn’t be at risk of seeing Draco face to face. “What about it?”

“Well, I don’t think Simone and I will have too much to say,” he remarked. “All we did was make sure none of the potions or books would jump out and grab us.”

Hermione smiled. “But it was very important work. Perhaps you could describe the tests you conducted, the spells you used to determine everything was safe.”

Collin nodded. “I was thinking everyone should get together. Maybe over coffee? And we can discuss our parts, maybe—”

At that moment, someone walked into Collin’s shoulder—hard. Hermione gasped as Collin grimaced. The someone had shockingly white-blond hair, and Hermione’s heart started pounding as Draco slowly turned around, his expression blank.

“Collin,” he said flatly. “I apologize.”

“No problem, mate.” Collin rubbed his shoulder, smiling at Draco. “We were just discussing the report. What do you say to—?”

Draco glanced at Hermione. His eyes were intense but the rest of his face remained impassive. “I’ll write up my part and give it to you.”

“That sounds fine,” she forced out, unable to tear her eyes away from his now that he was speaking to her. More than anything, she wanted to crawl under the table and melt into the floor.

Draco inclined his head. “Good. I will try to get that to you soon.”

She swallowed hard. “It’s no hurry.”

He said nothing, just turned and continued out the door.

When he was completely gone, Hermione breathed a huge sigh of relief and turned back to Collin. He was looking at her strangely.

“Everything all right?” he asked eventually.

“Yes, fine. Why?” she returned.

Collin shrugged. “I thought you and Malfoy were friends. Your exchange just now was … strange.”

Hermione forced a laugh. “Oh, that. I’m sure he’s just anxious. He’s got a wedding coming up soon, and I’m sure he’ll want to have this report finished before then.” It sounded good, and she hoped Collin would drop it.

He looked at her skeptically but didn’t pursue it. “Well, I suppose Malfoy won’t be joining us for that coffee. I’ve already talked to Simone about it, so what do you say?”

“Sure,” she replied. “Though perhaps we should all write up our parts and then discuss them.”

Collin thought about it, then agreed. “Let me know when you finish yours,” he said. “I guess Malfoy will be sending his to you too, so we can discuss his section without him.”

“Excellent. I’ll let you know.” 

Hermione said goodbye and hurried to her lab. Merlin, Draco had been so strange, as Collin had said. Now that she was free to think about their interaction, she was distressed to discover that she had no idea what had been going on in his mind, nor could she even begin to speculate. She couldn’t read him or his behavior, and she was no closer to finding out where she stood with him.

Not that she expected anything; she just wanted to know if he hated her, if he could consider forgiving her. Why it mattered, since they’d never be friends again, she couldn’t understand, but it did. Very much.

****

ooo

Hermione spent the next few days writing furiously while simultaneously brewing potions. She’d instructed her co-workers to keep going with their task of analyzing the intact potions and holed herself up at her workstation, pouring all of her thoughts on the project onto parchment.

When she had to leave the relative safety of her lab, Hermione took extra precautions to avoid Draco. She waited by corners and listened for his voice; she used a mirror to see around those same corners, in case he wasn’t talking. She would stake out the lifts and wait until the last second to jump on, in case he showed up.

There were a few times when she thought she saw him and had to duck into the nearest room. It was a little strange, she decided, to see him as much as she did. Before the whole business began, she saw him once, maybe twice a month. Now in the space of three days, she’d seen—and successfully avoided—him fourteen times. 

Perhaps in the past she actually had seen him more often but hadn’t really registered it, and now that she was actively trying _not_ to see him, she saw him everywhere. 

By Thursday morning, Hermione had gone through two inkwells and was decidedly exhausted from trying to avoid Draco. Something would have to change, because she didn’t think she could go the rest of her career dodging from one doorway to the next, hoping not to see him.

Besides, hiding was childish, and she resolved not to anymore. She was an adult; if she came upon him in the blue room or on the lift, she was perfectly capable of completely ignoring him. She could even greet him, though it would probably take some time and distance to get to that point. 

Who knows? Perhaps they could grow to be friends again, though she didn’t think it would happen any time soon. Probably years down the road, after she was married and they both had kids. Maybe they would play in the same Quidditch league, and Hermione would have to watch Draco and Astoria cheer their son or daughter on, laughing and sharing secrets and—

“Granger!”

Hermione jumped, knocking her inkwell over. “Bugger!” she cried, righting the well and quickly siphoning the extra ink away. Only then did the sound of her name register in her mind. 

“What?” she snapped, expecting to see one of her co-workers gaping repentantly at her. Instead, she saw Draco, smirking. She scowled.

“Lost in thought?” he teased lightly.

Hermione’s scowl deepened, and she mumbled her assent.

“You’d been glaring at your parchment for a good long minute before you finally heard me call your name,” he remarked, still quite amused.

“I’m almost finished,” she replied shortly, finally finished cleaning off her page. Now her inkwell was almost empty, and she’d have to run out for another one.

Draco held out a stack of pages with his neat, deliberate handwriting clearly discernable on the top sheet. “I’m delivering my part of the report, as promised.”

“Oh.” She’d expected him to simply mail the thing, not hand-deliver it in _her_ lab. This was her safe place, the one area of the entire Ministry where she didn’t feel she had to watch her every step, and now he had simply walked in. “All right.” 

Hermione tossed his work to the side and picked up her quill, hoping he would get the picture and leave. She just wasn’t ready to be friendly with him, to chat about nothing.

However, he didn’t move. Instead, he started sifting through her work. “You’ve written more than I have,” he said offhandedly. “I shouldn’t be surprised, I suppose.”

Hermione didn’t know how to respond so she returned her attention to the potion she was brewing. It was one of the many they’d translated in the potions book. She couldn’t analyze while writing, but she found potions that required long periods of simmering, during which she could write.

Out of the corner of her eyes, she saw Draco look around the room. Why wouldn’t he just _leave_ already?

“They’re all working on the castle potions,” he observed with a frown.

“They are,” she quipped.

“Why?” he asked, turning to her.

She huffed, annoyed. “Because the Director agreed with my assessment that bringing them in would be the best use of our resources.”

Draco chuckled to himself. “I’m glad that you have help. It didn’t seem fair that I got a room full of people and you were stashed away all by yourself.”

Hermione wanted to scream. What was he doing? Was he trying to pretend nothing had happened? Did he honestly think they could still be friends like they were before her confession? 

“Is there something more I can do for you?” she asked, not taking her eyes off the cauldron.

Draco sighed. “I was hoping we could talk.”

All right, so he wasn’t trying to simply ignore what had happened. She was relieved about that much.

“There’s nothing to talk about,” she said dismissively. 

For the first time, his body language exuded annoyance. He crossed his arms. “I disagree.”

If she looked at him, she didn’t know what she would do—freeze, bolt, kiss him. Though that last one wasn’t very likely. Her attention was required on the potion anyway, as she was at a critical stage in its development. “I have nothing to say.”

“Well, I do,” he huffed, stepping closer.

“Don’t.” Bollocks, why did she suddenly feel like crying? Tears pricked her eyes, and she blinked them away furiously.

“Don’t what?” He was really frustrated now.

“I do not need you to tell me anything,” she bit out. “I assure you, I will be quite fine without it. I don’t need any kind of closure or whatever it is you think you’re doing for me. Really. Let’s just … not, all right?”

Draco rolled his eyes. “Could you possibly listen before you jump to conclusions?”

“I don’t have time for this right now,” she snapped, popping open a bottle of gillyweed to add to the bubbling cauldron. 

“Fine,” he barked. “How about lunch?”

_Lunch?_ Not a chance. “I—”

She was interrupted by one of her co-workers that she hadn’t noticed approach her station. “Hermione?”

“Yes?” She let out a breath in relief. “How can I help you, Mark?”

The other man glanced at Draco before speaking. “I would like you to take a look at something and give me your opinion.”

Thank Merlin! She beamed at Mark. “Absolutely. What have you got?” She didn’t even spare a look for Draco as she followed Mark back to his table. 

Draco waited for a few minutes before finally leaving. Hermione felt a tiny pang of guilt for so blatantly ignoring him and abandoning him without a word, but then she remembered what he wanted to tell her. That he was highly flattered, perhaps, but he was truly and deeply in love with Astoria, that he was committed to her and always would be.

She really didn’t need for him to say it; she got it.

Now all she had to do was reset the wards so they wouldn’t automatically admit him to the Experimental Potions lab.

****

ooo

That evening, Hermione left late as usual. Unfortunately for her, Draco was in the revolving room when she reached it. He said nothing, just continued leafing through a stack of parchment he had with him. Hermione was grateful.

They walked together to the lift, and she silently pleaded for someone else to join them. When nothing but a handful of memos did, the door slid shut. Hermione stood in front of Draco, staring at the door, begging for the device to move faster than it ever had before.

It didn’t comply with her wishes.

Two floors up from the Department of Mysteries, Draco cleared his throat. “Did you ever get that coffee with Collin?”

Hermione blinked, completely surprised. “Coffee? I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Monday,” he said. “I overheard him ask you for coffee. You said yes.” 

His voice was tightly controlled, but it contained a hint of barely concealed … something. 

“Oh. That.” She tried to think of a reason why he would care but came up empty. “He’d mentioned all of us going for coffee to discuss the report.”

“All of us?” Draco repeated.

She couldn’t resist glancing at him over her shoulder. He was frowning very slightly, but otherwise his expression was blank. Quirking an eyebrow as though amused, she said, “You, me, him, and Simone. You know … all of us. The red team.” Then she resumed staring at the door.

Another floor passed before he spoke again. “Have you been avoiding me?”

Hermione sniffed and didn’t try to keep the sarcasm out of her voice. “Now, why would I want to avoid you?” She wished he would just stop doing … whatever he was trying to do. 

The lift stopped at the next floor, and someone got on. Hermione breathed a sigh of relief, only to tense up again when that person got off on the very next floor. 

“You can’t avoid me forever,” he said quietly. 

“I beg to differ.” She held her chin high, unsure why she was being so snippy and defensive. Really, she just wasn’t ready to deal with him yet. It had only been two weeks, after all, and she hadn’t planned on talking to him for at least a year, if ever, unless absolutely necessary for her job.

“I still want to talk,” he said at the next floor. 

“I still don’t.” Hermione crossed her arms and started tapping her foot, trying to make the lift move through sheer force of will. For a second there, she thought she felt it tremble and smiled to herself.

One floor away from the lobby, Draco sighed impatiently. “Are you hungry?”

“Famished,” she replied flatly, anxious for the doors to open, admitting her to freedom.

“What do you say we talk?” he ventured. “Over dinner.”

Hermione spun around, eyes narrowed. “What part of ‘I don’t want to talk to you’ aren’t you hearing? I don’t want to have dinner with you, or lunch for that matter. I don’t want to be friends, and I don’t need to hear whatever it is you think you need to say to me.”

The lift chimed then, and the door opened. Hermione rushed out, walking quickly to get to where she could Disapparate. 

Draco easily fell in step beside her. “You are the most frustratingly stubborn woman I know,” he growled. 

Just a few more feet and she’d be in the clear. Before she could clear the invisible barrier, he grabbed her arm. Hermione rounded on him, ready to tear into him.

“Why won’t you listen?” he demanded through gritted teeth, eyes blazing. 

She jerked her arm free. “Why won’t _you?_ ”

“You cannot avoid me forever,” he repeated. “And I’m afraid my patience won’t last much longer.”

Hermione rolled her eyes and started walking again. “Oh? Then what happens?” 

“You’re acting like a spoiled bint,” he called after her. “We _will_ talk, and soon, I assure you.”

Hermione couldn’t wait to be away from him, and as soon as she stepped into the Apparition Zone, she spun on her heel, waved sardonically, and Disapparated.

Once she was home, she collapsed on the sofa, heart pounding, hands shaking, and knees weak. She was angry, though she knew she had no real reason to be. It was just a defense mechanism, a way to erect a wall between them. Yes, she had behaved just as he’d said—or worse—but it had been the best she could muster. She didn’t want to talk to him yet, didn’t want to encourage him talking to her. 

****

ooo

Hermione went to Diagon Alley on her lunch break Friday. Draco was getting harder to avoid, and she wanted to be somewhere she didn’t have to guard her every move and peek around every corner. Even if only for an hour.

Besides, it was a beautiful, sunny summer day, and the thought of being outdoors was simply too good to resist.

She’d finished her meal and was walking down the street with an ice cream cone when she stopped to look in the window of Flourish and Blotts. There was a new book displayed in the window, and she was about to go inside when someone called her name.

“Hermione!”

She spun around, scanning the crowd for the source of the voice. Pansy came into view seconds later, almost barreling over an older couple in her haste.

“Pansy, be careful!” Hermione scolded.

Pansy uttered a quick apology to the couple. “We have to talk. Now.” She grabbed Hermione’s arm and pulled her through the street, frantically looking to either side. Finally she found what she was looking for, and stepped into a pub on the corner of Knockturn Alley.

“What are we—”

“Shh!” Pansy scowled, then dragged her to seat near the back. After shooing away the bartender, she finally looked at Hermione. “I’m so glad I found you! I was on my way to the Ministry directly when I spotted your hair.”

Hermione clenched her jaw. “What is so urgent that it couldn’t have waited? Or been spoken on the street, instead of this … dust-filled, smoky pub? Why must you always be so dramatic?” 

Pansy looked at her with wide, serious eyes, and the spoke in a low voice. “Astoria knows.”

Hermione’s first reaction was to panic, but then she realized she didn’t know what Pansy was talking about. “She knows … what?”

Pansy huffed in exasperation. “She _knows_. What you said! At the pub the other night!”

Hermione felt the blood drain out of her face. “How do you know she knows?” she whispered.

“Daphne told me. Apparently Astoria’s a bit shaken up.” Pansy pointed at Hermione. “I told you she was threatened by you.”

“But it doesn’t matter,” Hermione protested. “He’s with her. I overheard them talking the night we went to Paris, and he assured her he would never cheat on her. She shouldn’t be threatened by me.” It did help ease some of the pain, knowing her confession had managed to shake Astoria.

“Aren’t you the least bit curious about _how_ she found out?” Pansy inquired.

Hermione started to speak but changed her mind. “No. I’m sure Draco told her.” The very thought made her slightly sick.

“You think?” Pansy gasped. “I don’t know if he would do such a thing. I mean, why?”

“Maybe he took your advice to heart and started telling her everything.” Hermione dropped her head in her hands. “I mean, it just made sense to me that he would tell her, but now that I know he has …. Merlin, I have to avoid her now, too!”

Pansy patted her arm. “There, now, that won’t be difficult. You two never run in the same circles. Just Draco—and that won’t be happening again anytime soon—and me, and I would never knowingly put you in a situation with her.”

“I’ll bet they had a good laugh. Astoria, at least. ‘Poor Granger, falling for my Draco. Not that I can blame her. So sad, though, she knew he was taken.’” Hermione groaned. 

“I’m sure Draco didn’t laugh at you.” 

“She must hate me,” Hermione concluded. “If he doesn’t, then she surely does. And she will never, ever allow him to speak with me again, much less be friends with me. Not that I want to be friends with him again. I don’t.”

Pansy chuckled. “Right.”

Only, Draco _had_ talked to her. He’d come to her lab when he didn’t have to, spoken to her on the lift. He’d tried to force her to listen to him, but all of that could be dismissed. He was trying to tell her what she didn’t need to hear. After that, surely she’d never hear from him again. 

“I cannot believe he’d tell her,” Pansy mused thoughtfully. “There must be some other explanation.”

“Like what?” Hermione asked, defeated. “How else could she possibly know? No other explanation makes sense.” Tears stung her eyes. For some ridiculous reason, the thought that Draco had told his fiancée about Hermione’s feelings hurt. A lot. More than it should. 

“You all right?” Pansy asked.

Hermione blinked, refusing to shed another tear over Draco Malfoy. “Fine. I should get back to work though, I’m sure my lunch hour is up.”

Pansy stood with her and gave her a short but strong hug. “Hang in there. It’ll start getting better soon.”

“Thanks, Pansy.” Hermione smiled and the two parted. With a heavy heart, Hermione returned to work and tried not to glance at the clock every other second.


	12. CHAPTER ELEVEN

**CHAPTER ELEVEN**

One of Hermione’s favorite Friday night rituals—when she wasn’t out with friends or working—was to curl up on her comfy sofa after dinner with a book and a glass of wine. She often ended up falling asleep in the wee hours of the morning, her finger holding her place in the middle of a chapter.

This Friday night would be no exception. Hermione had a quiet dinner alone, poured herself a glass of her favorite wine, and got situated for a long evening of quiet reading. Not three pages into the book, however, she found herself getting distracted. She tried again, taking a sip of wine. 

Four more attempts were made, but her mind kept wandering to her conversation with Pansy earlier that day. It was like she enjoyed the additional pain, wondering if Draco and Astoria _had_ indeed laughed at her expense, as though she herself hefted a giant salt shaker and poured the usually harmless compound on the gaping wound that was her heart.

It simply wouldn’t do to spend her whole night thinking about how Draco had wronged her—yet again.

When she forced her thoughts in a different direction, they went immediately to a pot in her third cabinet from the sink that just wouldn’t fit right. She had fought with the pot for as long as she’d lived there, had considered rearranging her entire kitchen in an effort to make everything fit.

After finding herself thinking about the spice drawer, Hermione gave up trying to read. She took her wine glass into the kitchen and started pulling everything out of its place.

About two hours later, when all of her pots, pans, dishes, glasses, mugs, and other various kitchenware were scattered not just on her kitchen counters but the dining table and living room as well, someone knocked on her door. At first, she just stared incredulously, wondering who could possibly have such rotten timing. 

All of her friends except Ginny were accounted for as far she knew, and she doubted that Ginny was sitting around alone on a Friday night, bored enough to come to her house. 

The visitor knocked again. Hermione had no choice but to stop in the middle of what she was doing, fret for an instant about her appearance, and answer the door.

Hermione had numerous wards placed on her flat, and none of them had been tripped by the arrival of this person, so she didn’t bother to see who it was before opening. 

She recognized him instantly, and held the door open only a few inches, just enough to see. Warily, she gave him her best go-away look.

Draco’s anxious eyes met hers, then took in her slightly unkempt form. His expression remained impassive.

After a few moments of staring, he asked, “Are you going to invite me in?” 

“I wasn’t planning on it,” she quipped without a thought. “Why?”

“It’s generally held to be common courtesy,” he replied flatly. “When someone arrives on your doorstep, they typically don’t wish to carry on a conversation in a hallway.”

Her heart was pounding so fiercely that she barely registered his sarcasm. She certainly didn’t respond to it. The last thing she wanted was to have _this_ conversation. She already knew what he was going to say. “What do you want?”

“To talk,” he said, sighing heavily. “I’ve been trying to speak with you all week at work, but you’re suddenly impossible to find.”

Hermione narrowed her eyes. “Speaking of which, how do you know where I live?” As she asked the question, she realized the answer.

“Pansy,” he replied.

“Of course,” Hermione whispered. Then, in a regular voice, she said, “Whatever you have to say to me you can say from right there. I don’t see why walls around us are required.”

Draco glowered. “Stop being so stubborn, Hermione. Let me in or I’ll simply Vanish the door.”

The set of his jaw and the determination in his eyes told Hermione he would stop at nothing to achieve his aim. Since she rather preferred having a door, she stepped back, letting it swing wide.

Without sparing him another glance, she returned to the kitchen and resumed her task. 

Draco stood awkwardly in the doorway, watching her wearily. “What are you doing?”

“What does it look like I’m doing?” she asked.

He glanced around the rooms behind him and the kitchen. “Making a spectacular mess.”

Hermione scoffed. “I am rearranging my kitchen.” She made no efforts to be quiet as she stacked pots and plates. At that moment, actually, she was too nervous and discombobulated to do anything useful. The banging was merely to let him know just how unwelcome he was and possibly annoy him.

It worked.

“Do you mind?” he finally asked. “I want to, you know, talk to you. Not shout over all this racket, only to have you ask me to repeat myself. Repeatedly.”

“Well, you should have thought of that before you just knocked on my door at ten in the evening,” she snipped. “What did you think I would be doing?”

“Honestly? Reading,” he answered, scraping something off her wall with his fingernail.

Hermione reached over and slapped his hand away. He gave her a surprised look, which she simply ignored.

“Would you just … come out here so we can talk?” he asked, exasperated.

“I don’t have anything to say,” she said haughtily. “I don’t need to hear what you’re going to say. I get it already.”

Draco scowled. “I highly doubt that.”

When she still didn’t respond or move to comply, Draco entered the kitchen, grabbed her wrist, and pulled slightly so she would look at him. “I am not leaving here until we’ve talked. If you insist on being so bloody stubborn and finishing this … this project, let me know. I’ll go sit on the sofa until you’re done. Even if I have to wait all weekend.”

She glared at him and shook his hand off, ignoring the delightful tingles the contact sent down her spine. “Fine.” After setting down what was in her hand—loudly, of course—she stalked past him out of the kitchen.

Once in the living room, she sat primly in the armchair, crossed her ankles, and waited.

He started pacing quickly in front of her windows, brow furrowed. Then he suddenly stopped and looked at her. “Why did you say what you said?”

Hermione blinked, taken aback by the question. She had imagined this conversation in her head so many times she could practically say it all for him. His question wasn’t in the approved script. “What do you mean?”

“You-you say this-this thing, this big, huge … thing, and then you run away.” He huffed impatiently, gesturing wildly with his hands. “Did you want me to come after you? What were you hoping to accomplish?”

All right. Not the direction she’d expected at all. Uneasy at his line of questioning, Hermione dropped the attitude. “I … nothing. I don’t know, I just thought I should tell you.” She hadn’t really given any thought to what she’d expected after telling him. There had been no need to speculate. 

“You thought you should tell me,” he repeated, agitated.

“I thought it would be good for me,” she said. “That it would help me get over you.”

He scowled. “Did you ever stop to consider what your declaration might do to me? How it might affect _me?_ ”

“What? No!” she blurted, then felt her cheeks redden. “I mean, I—”

“You mean you didn’t.” He shook his head. “You just did what you thought was best for you without sparing a single brain cell on what might be best for me!”

“I’m under no obligation to consider what’s best for you,” she argued, getting upset because he was upset. “You’re getting married soon, so what do you care what I say?”

“I care, Hermione,” he said through gritted teeth. “And I apologize; I interrupted. You were about to tell me that you never once thought about how your announcement would affect me.”

She clenched her fists. “It’s not that, Draco. I already knew that it wouldn’t affect you. I didn’t think you would care. I never meant to tell you that way, but I thought I had to tell you at some point before it was too late, even though it didn’t matter when I told you. For my own sanity.”

He stared at her. “You honestly thought that telling me you loved me wouldn’t affect me in any way. I would just like to be clear on this.”

“Yes,” she said stubbornly. “Why would it? You had no problems leaving me before.”

Draco glared. “What do you mean, before?”

“That night,” she bit out. Merlin help her, she’d mentioned their one-night stand. 

He instantly paled. “I didn’t leave.”

“Yes, you did,” she argued.

“No, I specifically remember _not_ leaving,” he snapped.

“When I woke up, you were gone!” she exclaimed. “Gone, just … vanished. I’m almost certain that constitutes leaving.”

Draco’s anger seemed to deflate a little. “I went to get breakfast.”

“In your tux robes?” she bellowed. “Your cufflinks were gone, Draco. Did you need to be dressed to the nines to fetch a couple pieces of toast? You were gone, what did you expect me to think?”

“I left you a note,” he said, his tone clipped. 

Hermione scowled further. “A note? I didn’t see any note.”

“It was right by the door!” he cried. “How could you have missed it?”

“I didn’t see a note!” she repeated vehemently.

“That doesn’t mean it wasn’t there!” Draco reached into his pockets and pulled out a very worn piece of parchment, folded eight times into a very tight square. “See for yourself.”

Hermione took a shuddering breath and accepted the missive. With shaking hands, she opened it, sinking onto the sofa to read.

_Hermione,_

_Though I will never regret what we shared last night and will cherish it forever, it’s not the way I prefer to start a relationship. I hope I haven’t misinterpreted your actions these few weeks, but upon my return I will be asking you to join me tonight for dinner. A proper first date, if you’ll have me._

_Yours,  
Draco_

She had tears in her eyes when she finished reading. “You carry this with you?” she whispered, gingerly folding it again. When she held it out to him, he told her to keep it.

“It’s to you, after all.”

They sat in silence for what felt like an eternity, yet Hermione was aware of the slow movement of the moonlight across the coffee table.

“When I returned,” he continued quietly, “you were gone. I assumed you didn’t want me.”

“I did,” she breathed, tears obstructing her vision as she gazed at him with fresh admiration and love, as well as shame and regret. “I had hoped you would ask me out, but when you were gone, I … I thought I was just a game to you. That you were bored and thought it would be amusing to seduce me.”

Draco scowled deeply at her. “You thought so little of me?”

She buried her face in her hands and cried for the hundredth time since her confession. When the seat depressed beside her, she glanced up and scooted away.

“Please, don’t cry,” he murmured, awkwardly trying to comfort her but not knowing what to do or if she’d welcome it. “I can’t stand seeing you like this.”

“I can’t believe … you wanted me, too.” It was a sick twist of fate to learn they’d both wanted the same thing and that mutual misunderstanding—more so on her part—had kept them apart and possibly prevented them from being happy together. Fresh tears fell when she realized she might have been married to him for years.

Hermione didn’t want to welcome his gesture of comfort, but she didn’t want him to leave, either. 

He moved away toward the other end of the couch and faced forward, clasping his hands with his elbows on his knees. “The next time I saw you was at the Christmas party that year. You looked so happy, dancing on some bloke’s arm …. All I could think about was ripping his arms off.”

“That’s … unpleasant,” she said. Then she remembered what Pansy had said about Draco at that particular party. He’d taken a bet with Blaise that he could sleep with three women before the end of the night. Was it possible he’d done it because he was hurting?

“I don’t know why—I have tried so hard to understand it—but you stuck,” Draco told her. “I couldn’t get you out of my head. I tried … a lot of things. Nothing worked, but eventually, you receded to a dull ache I could ignore most of the time.”

She nodded numbly. “I know what you mean.”

“I was livid when we ended up in the same group.” He chuckled ruefully. “I wanted to quit. I’d discovered that the best way to cope was to hate you whenever I was reminded of you, or when someone mentioned you or said your name. The fire would flare, and I’d hate you in my head until I was left with that dull ache.”

“Me too.” 

He sent her a sideways look. “But that first day, when you were nice and even asked about Astoria …. I knew right then I was in deep trouble. I don’t know what it is about you, but you drive me crazy.”

Draco paused and rubbed the back of his neck. “But I couldn’t stop. I wanted to talk to you, to see you smile. No matter how hard I tried, I couldn’t stay away. When you were hurt ….” He shook his head. “I was in a bad way. When I thought you might be dead, everything else faded. Nothing mattered but pulling one rock off another until I saw you.”

He turned in the seat now to face her and reached for her hand. Startled, she let him take it, but remained in her spot. So Draco moved closer.

“I realized that day how much I cared about you. That you meant more to me than any other person in my life. I wanted to leave Astoria and kidnap you and never let you go, no matter what you said, no matter how much you didn’t want me.” 

Still numb, she met his gaze. His eyes were intense, full of every emotion she’d wished to see directed at her. 

Draco hesitantly brought his hand up to cup her cheek. She closed her eyes and leaned into the contact, now certain she was dreaming. This couldn’t be happening, not really. He wasn’t sitting beside her, holding her hand, telling her things he shouldn’t be saying. When he started gently running his thumb over her skin, she shuddered at the sensation.

“I hated you.”

Her eyes flew open, and she pulled away, stunned. “You what?” She tried to retrieve her hand, but he held it tightly.

“I hated you after you got hurt,” he continued. “I couldn’t stand the way you made me feel. I was on a track that had been long laid before me. Granted, I was a bit late in the whole marriage department, but it wasn’t a huge delay. Then you came along, beautiful and funny and everything I could only imagine, throwing a huge boulder on the track.”

She raised an eyebrow at his analogy, and he laughed softly. She frowned. “That’s why you ignored me.”

“It is,” he admitted. “Those were some of the hardest days of my life, but I was determined not to let my feelings for you ruin what I had planned.”

“Astoria.” Hermione made a face like she’d just tasted something bitter.

Draco sighed and dragged his free hand through his hair. “Astoria. Can we talk about her another time?”

“Why not now?” she asked.

“I’m just not ready for that,” he replied. “All you need to know right now is that I did love her, in a way. I was resigned to an unspectacular life with a woman I had little in common with. She was very good to me, and we’d have been just fine together. With you ….”

Draco brought her hand to his mouth and kissed it. 

“I didn’t understand your relationship with her,” Hermione told him, surprised she could speak. “How you could work all the time, and she was okay with it. And Pansy told me a few things that troubled me. But it was none of my business.”

“When my mother pestered me about settling down, I was to the point where I didn’t care. I’d given up on finding happiness and just wanted her off my back.” He rubbed his thumb on the back of her hand. “It’s not the best way to go about life, but that’s what happened.”

Hermione turned to face him, pulling one leg onto the sofa and taking both his hands in hers. “Now what?”

He chuckled. “Now … Astoria and I have a lot of gifts to return.”

Tears filled her eyes again, but this time they were tears of joy. “You mean it? You broke it off?”

“Almost two weeks ago,” he informed her. “The day after the pub. I went away with my parents to our lake house and told them everything. They were surprisingly supportive of my decision and my reasons. When I told them about you … well, Mother was just happy at the thought of me being happy.”

Hermione frowned. “Two weeks ago? But … I just spoke with Pansy about her today!” The memory also reminded her of what Draco had done. She released his hands and folded her arms.

“What about her?” Draco asked, slightly tense.

“Did you tell Astoria what I said?” Hermione began, giving him the chance to confess up front.

He frowned. “At the pub? No, why would I?”

Hermione narrowed her eyes. “Then how did she know?”

His eyes widened. “She knows? I don’t know how, I certainly didn’t tell her.”

“Then how does she know?” she repeated more emphatically. 

“I have no idea! Why would I tell her?” he demanded. “Do you really think I did?”

“I didn’t see any other explanation.” The entire evening was surreal. It was hard to believe that only moments before, she had been moved by his tender words. 

Draco gaped at her. “Did you consider the fact that there were other people there?”

She rolled her eyes. “I highly doubt my friends ran off and told your fiancée what happened.”

“Blaise was there,” Draco pressed, “and I doubt he’d have given it a second thought. Not to mention all of the people sitting around us. We weren’t exactly whispering in our little game.”

“Why would he tell?” Hermione asked.

“He’s sleeping with Daphne,” Draco supplied without pause. “Has been for ten years. He’d do anything to please her. Giving her sister that information would probably fall into that category.”

“But Daphne’s married!” she exclaimed with a gasp. “Does Theo know? And Blaise is with Ginny!”

Draco shrugged. “I wouldn’t be surprised if Theo knew … approved … participated, even. As for Ginny, I don’t know what to tell you. I know Blaise has fancied her for a very long time, so maybe Daphne was just filler.”

Hermione shook her head. “Poor Ginny.”

“I don’t know if he’s done it while with her,” Draco advised. “It’s possible he’s been faithful.”

“Then he wouldn’t have told Astoria,” Hermione reasoned. “He was with Ginny before then.”

Draco rolled his eyes. “Who cares how she found out?”

“I care,” she said through gritted teeth.

Draco took several deep breaths, then took her hands in his, refusing her attempts to prevent it. “Please listen to me. I did not tell Astoria what you said. Even if I didn’t feel the same way, I wouldn’t have done that to you. You were my friend at the very least, and I respect you too much.”

“Feel the same way?” she repeated, her breath hitching in her throat. “About what?”

“You,” he said determinedly. “That’s what I’ve been trying to tell you all night. All week. At least, I’d hoped you would let me tell you.”

She eyed him hopefully. “Really?”

“Really, you stubborn woman.” He chuckled. “Hermione, I’m going to kiss you now. I’ve been wanting to kiss you for two bloody months. Every time we were in an enclosed space, I wanted to kiss you. Lift rides were the worst; they’re so small. And the time we took the Visitor’s Entrance I thought I would explode. You have no idea—”

She cut him off then, grabbing a fistful of his shirt and pulling him toward her. Then she placed her hands on his face, arching her body so that she was touching him in as many places as possible.

Draco responded fervently, threading one hand through her hair and wrapping the other around her waist. The kiss was fierce and frenzied, years of pent-up frustration and desire bursting forth like a volcano, focused on the points where their lips tested and teased and danced.

When his tongue met hers, she moaned with delight, and he carefully, gently, lowered her to the sofa. 

“I’ve imagined this moment for years,” he confessed, trailing scorching kisses down her neck. “You have haunted my dreams.”

“Shirt … Off,” she gasped, tugging at the thin fabric that stood between her hands and his bare skin. 

He sat up to comply, and Hermione pulled her shirt off too. His eyes roved hungrily over her body, and she thought he would kiss her again, but he just continued staring. 

“You’re the most beautiful thing I’ve ever beheld,” he murmured. “I-I want to do this right this time.”

“Oh, it was right last time, too,” she assured him, grabbing his neck and pulling him down. “Very, very right.”

Draco smirked. “Good to know. But … I need you to know something.”

“What?” Less talking, more snogging, she wanted to shout. 

“I don’t want to be your friend.” He chastely kissed her forehead. “I don’t want to be a one-night off.” He kissed her nose. “I don’t want to be the one you call when something better didn’t work out.”

She started to protest, but he silenced her with a finger to her lips, then kissed her bare shoulder. 

His voice was low and smooth as he spoke, his lips hovering just above her skin. His warm breath sent shivers through her body with each word. “I want to be the one who makes you smile, laugh, scream—and I do mean in a good way—the one who challenges you, supports you, helps you reach your goals. I love you, Hermione Granger.”

She was officially dreaming, so there was no harm in her response. “I love you, too,” she whispered.

ooo

The next morning, Hermione awoke with a piece of parchment floating an inch in front of her face. The place beside her was empty, but she heard clanging and banging in the kitchen. Smiling, she took the letter out of the air and read. 

_Hermione,_

_I’m in the kitchen making breakfast. I’d like to take you to dinner tonight, if you’ll have me. You’ll notice my shirt is draped over the foot of the bed, my shoes are by the bedroom door, and the rest of my clothes are scattered all over the flat, wherever they landed last night._

_Yours,  
Draco_

_P.S. We’re having waffles._

 

A/N: The dress Hermione wore to Draco’s birthday dinner is from J.Crew. [Dress](http://www.theincrediblebride.com/blog_images/j-crew-royal-blue-dress.jpg).

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> All done! Thanks to everyone who's been reading and following this story! I've really enjoyed going through it with you!

**Author's Note:**

> Tremendous thanks to my two betas on this. First, to the_rainbow_jen, for giving me her general thoughts and overall suggestions for the story. Your help was invaluable! And then to penelope78 for the chapter by chapter beta job. Thank you SO MUCH!!


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